LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF    I 
CALIFORNIA 


Penrod 


BOOTH  TARKINGTON 


Penrod 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 
GORDON  GRANT 


Grosset  8c  Dunlap 

PUBLISHERS 

NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  1914,  BY 
DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 
Episodes  in  this  book  are  also  protected  by  following  copyrights: 

COPYRIGHT,    1913,    BY   BUTTERICK   PUBLISHING    CO. 

COPYRIGHT,    1913,    1914,    BY    HEARST   CO. 

COPYRIGHT,    1913,    BY    CURTIS   PUBLISHING    CO. 

COPYRIGHT,    1914,    BY   METROPOLITAN    MAGAZINE   CO. 

PRINTED   IN   THE   UNITED  STATES 


TO 

JOHN,  DONALD  AND  BOOTH  JAMESON 
FROM  A  GRATEFUL  UNCLE 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  A  Boy  and  His  Dog     .....  3 

II.  Romance «  .     11 

III.  The  Costume      .      .      .      .      f '.  .      .  19 

IV.  Desperation 27 

V.  The  Pageant  of  the  Table  Round      .  34 

VI.  Evening ,.  42 

VII.  Evils  of  Drink .,45 

VIIL  School :<  51 

IX.  Soaring 56 

X.  Uncle  John 62 

XI.  Fidelity  of  a  Little  Dog      ....  74 

XII.  Miss  Rennsdale  Accepts      ....  82 

XIIL  The  Smallpox  Medicine       ....  95 

XIV.  Maurice  Levy's  Constitution    .      .      .  105 

XV.  The  Two  Families     ......  116 

XVL  The  New  Star 132 

XVII.  Retiring  from  the  Show-Business    .      .  148 

XVIII.  Music 157 


8481 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PACK 

XIX.  The  Inner  Boy 170 

XX.  Brothers  of  Angels 180 

XXI.  Rupe  Collins 188 

XXII.  The  Imitator 199 

XXIII.  Coloured  Troops  in  Action   .      .      .  213 

XXIV.  "Little  Gentleman" 220 

XXV.  Tar 231 

XXVI.  The  Quiet  Afternoon        ....  250 

XXVII.  Conclusion  of  the  Quiet  Afternoon     .  264 

XXVIII.  Twelve 272 

XXIX.  Fanchon 281 

XXX.  The  Birthday  Party 288 

XXXI.  Over  the  Fence  302 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


PACING  PAGE 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  Margaret.  "They 
always  powdered  their  hair  in  Colonial  days"  23 

The  outcast  sat,  and  sat  and  sat,  and  squirmed 

and  squirmed  and  squirmed 67 

Following  the  form  prescribed  by  Professor 
Bartet,  he  advanced  several  paces  toward  the 
stricken  lady,  and  bowed 93 

Penrod  stopped  sales  to  watch  this  operation      .        99 

At  about  ten  of  the  clock  Penrod  emerged  hastily 

from  the  kitchen  door 119 

Maurice     Levy     appeared     escorting    Marjorie 

Jones,  and  paid  coin  for  two  admissions      .      .      139 

Never  had  he  so  won  upon  her;  never  had  she  let 

him  feel  so  close  to  her  before 168 

The  first  bite  convinced  him  that  he  had  made  a 

mistake  178 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING 

"Yes,  sonny,  Rupe  Collins  is  my  name,  and  you 
better  look  out  what  you  say  when  he's 
around!" 195 

Thus  began  the  Great  Tar  Fight  'O.T •  . ..«  .      .      237 

By  his  ear  she  swung  him  away  from  Fanchon  and 

faced  him  toward  the  lawn  .  299 


Penrod 


CHAPTER  I 

A  BOY    AND    HIS    DOG 

PENROD  sat  morosely  upon  the  back  fence 
and  gazed  with  envy  at  Duke,  his  wistful 
dog. 

A  bitter  soul  dominated  the  various  curved  and 
angular  surfaces  known  by  a  careless  world  as  the 
face  of  Penrod  Schofield.  Except  in  solitude,  that 
face  was  almost  always  cryptic  and  emotionless ;  for 
Penrod  had  come  into  his  twelfth  year  wearing  an 
expression  carefully  trained  to  be  inscrutable.  Since 
the  world  was  sure  to  misunderstand  everything, 
mere  defensive  instinct  prompted  him  to  give  it  as 
little  as  possible  to  lay  hold  upon.  Nothing  is  more 


4  PENROD 

impenetrable  than  the  face  of  a  boy  who  has  learned 
this,  and  Penrod's  was  habitually  as  fathomless  as 
the  depth  of  his  hatred  this  morning  for  the  literary 
activities  of  Mrs.  Lora  Rewbush — an  almost  univer 
sally  respected  fellow  citizen,  a  lady  of  charitable 
and  poetic  inclinations,  and  one  of  his  own  mother's 
most  intimate  friends. 

Mrs.  Lora  Rewbush  had  written  something  which 
she  called  "The  Children's  Pageant  of  the  Table 
Round,"  and  it  was  to  be  performed  in  public  that 
very  afternoon  at  the  Women's  Arts  and  Guild  Hall 
for  the  benefit  of  the  Coloured  Infants'  Betterment 
Society.  And  if  any  flavour  of  sweetness  remained 
in  the  nature  of  Penrod  Schofield  after  the  dismal 
trials  of  the  school-week  just  past,  that  problematic, 
infinitesimal  remnant  was  made  pungent  acid  by  the 
imminence  of  his  destiny  to  form  a  prominent  feature 
of  the  spectacle,  and  to  declaim  the  loathsome  senti 
ments  of  a  character  named  upon  the  programme 
the  Child  Sir  Lancelot. 

After  each  rehearsal  he  had  plotted  escape,  and 
only  ten  days  earlier  there  had  been  a  glimmer  of 
light:  Mrs.  Lora  Rewbush  caught  a  very  bad  cold, 
and  it  was  hoped  it  might  develop  into  pneumonia ; 
but  she  recovered  so  quickly  that  not  even  a  rehearsal 
of  the  Children's  Pageant  was  postponed.  Dark 
ness  closed  in.  Penrod  had  rather  vaguely  debated 
plans  for  a  self-mutilation  such  as  would  make  his 
appearance  as  the  Child  Sir  Lancelot  inexpedient 


A  BOY  AND  HIS  DOG  5 

on  public  grounds;  it  was  a  heroic  and  attractive 
thought,  but  the  results  of  some  extremely  sketchy 
preliminary  experiments  caused  him  to  abandon  it. 

There  was  no  escape ;  and  at  last  his  hour  was  hard 
upon  him.  Therefore  he  brooded  on  the  fence  and 
gazed  with  envy  at  his  wistful  Duke. 

The  dog's  name  was  undescriptive  of  his  person, 
which  was  obviously  the  result  of  a  singular  series 
of  mesalliances.  He  wore  a  grizzled  moustache  and 
indefinite  whiskers;  he  was  small  and  shabby,  and 
looked  like  an  old  postman.  Penrod  envied  Duke 
because  he  was  sure  Duke  would  never  be  compelled 
to  be  a  Child  Sir  Lancelot.  He  thought  a  dog  free 
and  unshackled  to  go  or  come  as  the  wind  listeth. 
Penrod  forgot  the  life  he  led  Duke. 

There  was  a  long  soliloquy  upon  the  fence,  a  plain 
tive  monologue  without  words:  the  boy's  thoughts 
were  adjectives,  but  they  were  expressed  by  a  run 
ning  film  of  pictures  in  his  mind's  eye,  morbidly 
prophetic  of  the  hideosities  before  him.  Finally  he 
spoke  aloud,  with  such  spleen  that  Duke  rose  from 
his  haunches  and  lifted  one  ear  in  keen  anxiety. 

"  'I  hight  Sir  Lancelot  du  Lake,  the  Child, 
Gentul-hearted,   meek,   and   mild. 
What  though  I'm  but  a  littul  child, 
Gentul-hearted,   meek,    and '     Oof!" 

All  of  this  except  "oof"  was  a  quotation  from  the 
Child  Sir  Lancelot,  as  conceived  by  Mrs.  Lora  Rew- 
bush.  Choking  upon  it,  Penrod  slid  down  from  the 


6  PENROD 

fence,  and  with  slow  and  thoughtful  steps  entered 
a  one-storied  wing  of  the  stable,  consisting  of  a 
single  apartment,  floored  with  cement  and  used  as 
a  storeroom  for  broken  bric-a-brac,  old  paint- 
buckets,  decayed  garden-hose,  worn-out  carpets, 
dead  furniture,  and  other  condemned  odds  and  ends 
not  yet  considered  hopeless  enough  to  be  given  away. 

In  one  corner  stood  a  large  box,  a  part  of  the 
building  itself :  it  was  eight  feet  high  and  open  at  the 
top,  and  it  had  been  constructed  as  a  sawdust  maga 
zine  from  which  was  drawn  material  for  the  horse's 
bed  in  a  stall  on  the  other  side  of  the  partition.  The 
big  box,  so  high  and  towerlike,  so  commodious,  so 
suggestive,  had  ceased  to  fulfil  its  legitimate  func 
tion;  though,  providentially,  it  had  been  at  least 
half  full  of  sawdust  when  the  horse  died.  Two  years 
had  gone  by  since  that  passing ;  an  interregnum  in 
transportation  during  which  Penrod's  father  was 
"thinking"  (he  explained  sometimes)  of  an  automo 
bile.  Meanwhile,  the  gifted  and  generous  sawdust* 
box  had  served  brilliantly  in  war  and  peace:  it  was 
Penrod's  stronghold. 

There  was  a  partially  defaced  sign  upon  the  front 
wall  of  the  box;  the  donjon-keep  had  known  mer 
cantile  impulses: 

The  O.  K.  RaBiT  Co. 

PENROD  ScHoFiELD  AND  CO. 

iNQuiRE  FOR  PRicEs 


A  BOY  AND  HIS  DOG  7 

This  was  a  venture  of  the  preceding  vacation,  and 
had  netted,  at  one  time,  an  accrued  and  owed  profit 
of  $1.38.  Prospects  had  been  brightest  on  the  very 
eve  of  cataclysm.  The  storeroom  was  locked  and 
guarded,  but  twenty-seven  rabbits  and  Belgian  hares, 
old  and  young,  had  perished  here  on  a  single  night 
— through  no  human  agency,  but  in  a  foray  of  cats, 
the  besiegers  treacherously  tunnelling  up  through 
the  sawdust  from  the  small  aperture  which  opened 
into  the  stall  beyond  the  partition.  Commerce  has 
its  martyrs. 

Penrod  climbed  upon  a  barrel,  stood  on  tiptop 
grasped  the  rim  of  the  box ;  then,  using  a  knot-hole 
as  a  stirrup,  threw  one  leg  over  the  top,  drew  him 
self  up,  and  dropped  within.  Standing  upon  the 
packed  sawdust,  he  was  just  tall  enough  to  see  over 
the  top. 

Duke  had  not  followed  him  into  the  storeroom,  but 
remained  near  the  open  doorway  in  a  concave  and 
pessimistic  attitude.  Penrod  felt  in  a  dark  corner  of 
the  box  and  laid  hands  upon  a  simple  apparatus  con 
sisting  of  an  old  bushel-basket  with  a  few  yards  of 
clothes-line  tied  to  each  of  its  handles.  He  passed 
the  ends  of  the  lines  over  a  big  spool,  which  revolved 
upon  an  axle  of  wire  suspended  from  a  beam  over 
head,  and,  with  the  aid  of  this  improvised  pulley, 
lowered  the  empty  basket  until  it  came  to  rest  in  an 
upright  position  upon  the  floor  of  the  storeroom  at 
the  foot  of  the  sawdust-box. 


8  PENROD 

"Eleva-ter!"  shouted  Penrod.     "Ting-ting!" 

Duke,  old  and  intelligently  apprehensive,  ap 
proached  slowly,  in  a  semicircular  manner,  depre- 
catingly,  but  with  courtesy.  He  pawed  the  basket 
delicately;  then,  as  if  that  were  all  his  master  had 
expected  of  him,  uttered  one  bright  bark,  sat  down, 
and  looked  up  triumphantly.  His  hypocrisy  was 
•shallow:  many  a  horrible  quarter  of  an  hour  had 
taught  him  his  duty  in  this  matter. 

"El-e-m?/-ter !"  shouted  Penrod  sternly.  "You 
(vant  me  to  come  down  there  to  you?" 

Duke  looked  suddenly  haggard.  He  pawed  the 
basket  feebly  again  and,  upon  another  outburst 
from  on  high,  prostrated  himself  flat.  Again 
threatened,  he  gave  a  superb  impersonation  of  a 
worm. 

"You  get  in  that  el-e-VAY-ter !" 

Reckless  with  despair,  Duke  jumped  into  the 
basket,  landing  in  a  dishevelled  posture,  which  he 
did  not  alter  until  he  had  been  drawn  up  and  poured 
out  upon  the  floor  of  sawdust  with  the  box.  There, 
shuddering,  he  lay  in  doughnut  shape  and  presently 
slumbered. 

It  was  dark  in  the  box,  a  condition  that  might 
have  been  remedied  by  sliding  back  a  small  wooden 
panel  on  runners,  which  would  have  let  in  ample 
light  from  the  alley ;  but  Penrod  Schofield  had  more 
interesting  means  of  illumination.  He  knelt,  and 
from  a  former  soap-box,  in  a  corner,  took  a  lantern 


A  BOY  AND  HIS  DOG  9 

without  a  chimney,  and  a  large  oil-can,  the  leak  in 
the  latter  being  so  nearly  imperceptible  that  its 
banishment  from  household  use  had  seemed  to  Penrod 
as  inexplicable  as  it  was  providential. 

He  shook  the  lantern  near  his  ear:  nothing 
splashed;  there  was  no  sound  but  a  dry  clinking. 
But  there  was  plenty  of  kerosene  in  the  can ;  and  he 
filled  the  lantern,  striking  a  match  to  illumine  the 
operation.  Then  he  lit  the  lantern  and  hung  it  upon 
a  nail  against  the  wall.  The  sawdust  floor  was 
slightly  impregnated  with  oil,  and  the  open  flame 
quivered  in  suggestive  proximity  to  the  side  of  the 
box;  however,  some  rather  deep  charrings  of  the 
plank  against  which  the  lantern  hung  offered  evi 
dence  that  the  arrangement  was  by  no  means  a  new 
one,  and  indicated  at  least  a  possibility  of  no  fatality 
occurring  this  time. 

Next,  Penrod  turned  up  the  surface  of  the  saw 
dust  in  another  corner  of  the  floor,  and  drew  forth 
a  cigar-box  in  which  were  half  a  dozen  cigarettes, 
made  of  hayseed  and  thick  brown  wrapping  paper, 
a  lead-pencil,  an  eraser,  and  a  small  note-book,  the 
cover  of  which  was  labelled  in  his  own  handwriting : 

"English  Grammar.  Penrod  Schofield.  Room  6, 
Ward  School  Nomber  Seventh." 

The  first  page  of  this  book  was  purely  academic ; 
but  the  study  of  English  undefiled  terminated  with 
a  slight  jar  at  the  top  of  the  second:  "Nor  must  an 
adverb  be  used  to  modif " 


10  PENROD 

Immediately  followed: 

"HARoLD  RAMoREX  THE  RoAD AGENT 

OR  WILD  LIFE  AMoNG  THE 

ROCKY  MTS." 

And  the  subsequent  entries  in  the  book  appeared 
to  have  little  concern  with  Room  6,  Ward  School 
Nomber  Seventh. 


i 


CHAPTER  II 

ROMANCE 


author  of  "Harold  Ramorez,"  etc.,  lit 
one  of  the  hayseed  cigarettes,  seated  him 
self  comfortably,  with  his  back  against  the 
wall  and  his  right  shoulder  just  under  the  lantern, 
elevated  his  knees  to  support  the  note-book,  turned 
to  a  blank  page,  and  wrote,  slowly  and  earnestly : 

"CHAPITER  THE  SIXTH" 

He  took  a  knife  from  his  pocket,  and,  broodingly, 
his  eyes  upon  the  inward  embryos  of  vision,  sharp 
ened  his  pencil.  After  that,  he  extended  a  foot  and 

11 


12  PENROD 

meditatively  rubbed  Duke's  back  with  the  side  of  his 
shoe.  Creation,  with  Penrod,  did  not  leap,  full- 
armed,  from  the  brain ;  but  finally  he  began  to  pro 
duce.  He  wrote  very  slowly  at  first,  and  then  with 
increasing  rapidity;  faster  and  faster,  gathering 
momentum  and  growing  more  and  more  fevered  as  he 
sped,  till  at  last  the  true  fire  came,  without  which  no 
lamp  of  real  literature  may  be  made  to  burn. 

Mr.  Wilson  reched  for  his  gun  but  our  hero  had  him 
covred  and  soon  said  Well  I  guess  you  don't  come  any  of 
that  on  me  my  freind. 

Well  what  makes  you  so  sure  about  it  sneered  the  other 
bitting  his  lip  so  savageley  that  the  blood  ran.  You  are 
nothing  but  a  common  Roadagent  any  way  and  I  do  not 
propose  to  be  bafled  by  such,  Ramorez  laughed  at  this  and 
kep  Mr.  Wilson  covred  by  his  ottomatick 

Soon  the  two  men  were  struggling  together  in  the  death- 
roes  but  soon  Mr  Wilson  got  him  bound  and  gaged  his 
mouth  and  went  away  for  awhile  leavin  our  hero,  it  was 
dark  and  he  writhd  at  his  bonds  writhing  on  the  floor  wile 
the  rats  came  out  of  their  holes  and  bit  him  and  vernim  got 
all  over  him  from  the  floor  of  that  helish  spot  but  soon  he 
managed  to  push  the  gag  out  of  his  mouth  with  the  end  of 
his  toungeu  and  got  all  his  bonds  off 

Soon  Mr  Wilson  came  back  to  tant  him  with  his  helpless 
condition  flowed  by  his  gang  of  detectives  and  they  said  Oh 
look  at  Ramorez  sneering  at  his  plight  and  tanted  him  with 
his  helpless  condition  because  Ramorez  had  put  the  bonds 
back  sos  he  would  look  the  same  but  could  throw  them  off 
him  when  he  wanted  to  Just  look  at  him  now  sneered  they. 
To  hear  him  talk  you  would  thought  he  was  hot  stuff  and 
they  said  Look  at  him  now,  him  that  was  going  to  do  so 
much,  Oh  I  would  not  like  to  be  in  his  fix 

Soon  Harold  got  mad  at  this  and  jumped  up  with  biasing 


ROMANCE  13 

eyes  throwin  off  his  bonds  like  they  were  air  Ha  Ha 
sneered  he  I  guess  you  better  not  talk  so  much  next  time. 
Soon  there  flowed  another  awful  struggle  and  siezin  his 
ottomatick  back  from  Mr  Wilson  he  shot  two  of  the  detec 
tives  through  the  heart  Bing  Bing  went  the  ottomatick  and 
two  more  went  to  meet  their  Maker  only  two  detectives  left 
now  and  so  he  stabbed  one  and  the  scondrel  went  to  meet 
his  Maker  for  now  our  hero  was  fighting  for  his  very  life,. 
It  was  dark  in  there  now  for  night  had  f alen  and  a  terrible 
view  met  the  eye  Blood  was  just  all  over  everything  andl 
the  rats  were  eatin  the  dead  men. 

Soon  our  hero  manged  to  get  his  back  to  the  wall  for  he 
was  fighting  for  his  very  life  now  and  shot  Mr  Wilson 

through  the  abodmen  Oh  said  Mr  Wilson  you • 

(The  dashes  are  Penrod's.) 

Mr  Wilson  stagerd  back  vile  oaths  soilin  his  lips  for  he 

was  in  pain  Why  you you  sneered  he  I  will  get 

you  yet you  Harold  Ramorez 

The  remainin  scondrel  had  an  ax  which  he  came  near 
our  heros  head  with  but  missed  him  and  ramand  stuck  in 
the  wall  Our  heros  amunition  was  exhaused  what  was  he 
to  do,  the  remanin  scondrel  would  soon  get  his  ax  lose  so 
our  hero  sprung  forward  and  bit  him  till  his  teeth  met  in 
the  flech  for  now  our  hero  was  fighting  for  his  very  life.  At 
this  the  remanin  scondrel  also  cursed  and  swore  vile  oaths. 

Oh  sneered  he you  Harold  Ramorez  what 

did  you  bite  me  for  Yes  sneered  Mr  Wilson  also  and  he 
has  shot  me  in  the  abdomen  too  the 

Soon  they  were  both  cursin  and  reviln  him  together 

Why  you sneered  they  what  did 

you  want  to  injure  us  for you  Harold  Ramorez  you 

have  not  got  any  sence  and  you  think  you  are  so  much  but 
you  are  no  better  than  anybody  else  and  you  are  a — — 


Soon  our  hero  could  stand  this  no  longer.     If  you  could 
to  act  like  gentlmen  said  he  I  would  not  do  any  more 


14  PENROD 

to  you  now  and  your  low  vile  exppresions  have  not  got  any 
effect  on  me  only  to  injure  your  own  self  when  you  go  to 
meet  your  Maker  Oh  I  guess  you  have  had  enogh  for  one 
day  and  I  think  you  have  learned  a  lesson  and  will  not  soon 
atemp  to  beard  Harold  Ramorez  again  so  with  a  tantig 
laugh  he  cooly  lit  a  cigarrete  and  takin  the  keys  of  the  cell 
from  Mr  Wilson  poket  went  on  out 

Soon  Mr  Wilson  and  the  wonded  detective  manged  to 

bind  up  their  wonds  and  got  up  off  the  floor it  I 

will  have  that  dasstads  life  now  sneered  they  if  we  have  to 

swing  for  it him  he  shall  not  eccape  us 

again  the  low  down 

Chapiter  seventh 

A  mule  train  of  heavily  laden  burros  laden  with  gold  from 
the  mines  was  to  be  seen  wondering  among  the  highest  clifts 
and  gorgs  of  the  Rocky  Mts  and  a  tall  man  with  a  long 
silken  mustash  and  a  cartigde  belt  could  be  heard  cursin 
vile  oaths  because  he  well  knew  this  was  the  lair  of  Harold 

Ramorez    Why you  you 

mules  you  sneered  he  because  the  poor  mules  were  not  able 

to  go  any  quicker  you  I  will  show  you    Why  

it  sneered  he  his  oaths  growing 

viler  and  viler  I  will  whip  you 

you  sos  you  will  not  be  able  to  walk  for  a  week 


you  you  mean  old 

mules  you 

Scarcly  had  the  vile  words  left  his  lips  when 

"Penrod!" 

It  was  his  mother's  voice,  calling  from  the  back 
porch. 

Simultaneously,  the  noon  whistles  began  to  blow, 
far  and  near ;  and  the  romancer  in  the  sawdust-box, 
summoned  prosaically  from  steep  mountain  passes 


ROMANCE  15 

above  the  clouds,  paused  with  stubby  pencil  half 
way  from  lip  to  knee.  His  eyes  were  shining:  there 
was  a  rapt  sweetness  in  his  gaze.  As  he  wrote,  his 
burden  had  grown  lighter;  thoughts  of  Mrs.  Lora 
Rewbush  had  almost  left  him;  and  in  particular  as 
he  recounted  (even  by  the  chaste  dash)  the  annoyed 
expressions  of  Mr.  Wilson,  the  wounded  detective, 
and  the  silken  moustached  mule-driver,  he  had  felt 
mysteriously  relieved  concerning  the  Child  Sir 
Lancelot.  Altogether  he  looked  a  better  and  a 
brighter  boy. 

"Pen-rod!99 

The  rapt  look  faded  slowly.  He  sighed,  but 
moved  not. 

"Penrod!  We're  having  lunch  early  just  on  your 
account,  so  you'll  have  plenty  of  time  to  be  dressed 
for  the  pageant.  Hurry  !" 

There  was  silence  in  Penrod's  aerie. 


Mrs.  Schofield's  voice  sounded  nearer,  indicating 
a  threatened  approach.  Penrod  bestirred  himself: 
he  blew  out  the  lantern,  and  shouted  plaintively: 

"Well,  ain't  I  coming  fast's  I  can?" 

"Do  hurry,"  returned  the  voice,  withdrawing  ;  and 
the  kitchen  door  could  be  heard  to  close. 

Languidly,  Penrod  proceeded  to  set  his  house  in 
order. 

Replacing  his  manuscript  and  pencil  in  the  cigar- 
box,  he  carefully  buried  the  box  in  the  sawdust,  put 


16  PENROD 

the  lantern  and  oil-can  back  in  the  soap-box,  ad 
justed  the  elevator  for  the  reception  of  Duke,  and, 
in  no  uncertain  tone,  invited  the  devoted  animal  to 
enter. 

Duke  stretched  himself  amiably,  affecting  not  to 
hear ;  and  when  this  pretence  became  so  obvious  that 
even  a  dog  could  keep  it  up  no  longer,  sat  down  in 
a  corner,  facing  it,  his  back  to  his  master,  and  his 
head  perpendicular,  nose  upward,  supported  by  the 
convergence  of  the  two  walls.  This,  from  a  dog,  is 
the  last  word,  the  comble  of  the  immutable.  Penrod 
commanded,  stormed,  tried  gentleness;  persuaded 
with  honeyed  words  and  pictured  rewards.  Duke's 
eyes  looked  backward ;  otherwise  he  moved  not.  Time 
elapsed.  Penrod  stooped  to  flattery,  finally  to  in 
sincere  caresses ;  then,  losing  patience  spouted  sudden 
threats.  Duke  remained  immovable,  frozen  fast  to 
his  great  gesture  of  implacable  despair. 

A  footstep  sounded  on  the  threshold  of  the  store- 
room. 

"Penrod,  come  down  from  that  box  this  instant !" 

"Ma'am?" 

"Are  you  up  in  that  sawdust-box  again?"  As 
Mrs.  Schofield  had  just  heard  her  son's  voice  issue 
from  the  box,  and  also,  as  she  knew  he  was  there 
anyhow,  her  question  must  have  been  put  for  oratori 
cal  purposes  only.  "Because  if  you  are,"  she  con 
tinued  promptly,  "I'm  going  to  ask  your  papa  not  to 
let  you  play  there  any " 


ROMANCE  17 

Penrod's  forehead,  his  eyes,  the  tops  of  his  ears, 
and  most  of  his  hair,  became  visible  to  her  at  the  top 
of  the  box.  "I  ain't  'playing !'  "  he  said  indignantly. 

"Well,  what  are  you  doing?" 

"Just  coming  down,"  he  replied,  in  a  grieved  but 
patient  tone. 

"Then  why  don't  you  come?" 

"I  got  Duke  here.  I  got  to  get  him  down,  haven't 
I?  You  don't  suppose  I  want  to  leave  a  poor  dog 
in  here  to  starve,  do  you?" 

"Well,  hand  him  down  over  the  side  to  me.  Let 
me " 

"I'll  get  him  down  all  right,"  said  Penrod.  "I 
got  him  up  here,  and  I  guess  I  can  get  him  down !" 

"Well  then,  do  it!" 

"I  will  if  you'll  let  me  alone.  If  you'll  go  on  back 
to  the  house  I  promise  to  be  there  inside  of  two  min 
utes.  Honest !" 

He  put  extreme  urgency  into  this,  and  his  mother 
turned  toward  the  house.  "If  you're  not  there  in 
two  minutes " 

"I  will  be!" 

After  her  departure,  Penrod  expended  some  final 
ities  of  eloquence  upon  Duke,  then  disgustedly 
gathered  him  up  in  his  arms,  dumped  him  into  the 
basket  and,  shouting  sternly,  "All  in  for  the  ground 
floor — step  back  there,  madam — all  ready,  Jim!" 
lowered  dog  and  basket  to  the  floor  of  the  storeroom. 
Duke  sprang  out  in  tumultuous  relief,  and  bestowed 


18  PENROD 

frantic  affection  upon  his  master  as  the  latter  slid 
down  from  the  box. 

Penrod  dusted  himself  sketchily,  experiencing  a 
sense  of  satisfaction,  dulled  by  the  overhanging 
afternoon,  perhaps,  but  perceptible :  he  had  the  feel 
ing  of  one  who  has  been  true  to  a  cause.  The  oper 
ation  of  the  elevator  was  unsinful  and,  save  for  the 
shock  to  Duke's  nervous  system,  it  was  harmless; 
but  Penrod  could  not  possibly  have  brought  himself 
to  exhibit  it  in  the  presence  of  his  mother  or  any 
other  grown  person  in  the  world.  The  reasons  for 
secrecy  were  undefined ;  at  least,  Penrod  did  irot  de 
fine  them. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    COSTUME 

ACER  lunch  his  mother  and  his  sister  Mar 
garet,  a  pretty  girl  of  nineteen,  dressed  him 
for  the  sacrifice.     They  stood  him  near  his 
mother's  bedroom  window  and  did  what  they  would 
to  him. 

During  the  earlier  anguishes  of  the  process  he  was 
mute,  exceeding  the  pathos  of  the  stricken  calf  in  the 
shambles ;  but  a  student  of  eyes  might  have  perceived 
in  his  soul  the  premonitory  symptoms  of  a  sinister 
uprising.  At  a  rehearsal  (in  citizens'  clothes)  at 
tended  by  mothers  and  grown-up  sisters,  Mrs.  Lora 
Rewbush  had  announced  that  she  wished  the  cos- 
id 


20  PENROD 

turning  to  be  "as  medieval  and  artistic  as  possible.' 
Otherwise,  and  as  to  details,  she  said,  she  would 
leave  the  costumes  entirely  to  the  good  taste  of  the 
children's  parents.  Mrs.  Schofield  and  Margaret 
were  no  archaeologists,  but  they  knew  that  their  taste 
was  as  good  as  that  of  other  mothers  and  sisters  con 
cerned  ;  so  with  perfect  confidence  they  had  planned 
and  executed  a  costume  for  Penrod;  and  the  only 
misgiving  they  felt  was  connected  with  the  tracta- 
bility  of  the  Child  Sir  Lancelot  himself. 

Stripped  to  his  underwear,  he  had  been  made  to 
wash  himself  vehemently ;  then  they  began  by  shroud 
ing  his  legs  in  a  pair  of  silk  stockings,  once  blue  but 
now  mostly  whitish.  Upon  Penrod  they  visibly  sur 
passed  mere  ampleness;  but  they  were  long,  and  it 
required  only  a  rather  loose  imagination  to  assume 
that  they  were  tights. 

The  upper  part  of  his  body  was  next  concealed 
from  view  by  a  garment  so  peculiar  that  its  descrip 
tion  becomes  difficult.  In  1886,  Mrs.  Schofield,  then 
unmarried,  had  worn  at  her  "coming-out  party"  a 
dress  of  vivid  salmon  silk  which  had  been  remodelled 
after  her  marriage  to  accord  with  various  epochs  of 
fashion  until  a  final,  unskilful  campaign  at  a  dye- 
house  had  left  it  in  a  condition  certain  to  attract 
much  attention  to  the  wearer.  Mrs.  Schofield  had 
considered  giving  it  to  Delia,  the  cook ;  but  had  de 
cided  not  to  do  so,  because  you  never  could  tell  how 
Delia  was  going  to  take  things,  and  cooks  were  scarce. 


THE  COSTUME  21 

It  may  have  been  the  word  "medieval"  (in  Mrs. 
Lor  a  Rewbush's  rich  phrase)  which  had  inspired  the 
idea  for  a  last  conspicuous  usefulness ;  at  all  events, 
the  bodice  of  that  once  salmon  dress,  somewhat  modi 
fied  and  moderated,  now  took  a  position,  for  its  fare 
well  appearance  in  society,  upon  the  back,  breast, 
and  arms  of  the  Child  Sir  Lancelot. 

The  area  thus  costumed  ceased  at  the  waist,  leav 
ing  a  Jaeger-like  and  unmedieval  gap  thence  to  the 
tops  of  the  stockings.  The  inventive  genius  of 
woman  triumphantly  bridged  it,  but  in  a  manner 
which  imposes  upon  history  almost  insuperable  deli 
cacies  of  narration.  Penrod's  father  was  an  old- 
fashioned  man:  the  twentieth  century  had  failed  to 
shake  his  faith  in  red  flannel  for  cold  weather;  and 
it  was  while  Mrs.  Schofield  was  putting  away  her 
husband's  winter  underwear  that  she  perceived  how 
hopelessly  one  of  the  elder  specimens  had  dwindled ; 
and  simultaneously  she  received  the  inspiration 
which  resulted  in  a  pair  of  trunks  for  the  Child  Sir 
Lancelot,  and  added  an  earnest  bit  of  colour,  as  well 
as  a  genuine  touch  of  the  Middle  Ages,  to  his  cos 
tume.  Reversed,  fore  to  aft,  with  the  greater  part 
of  the  legs  cut  off,  and  strips  of  silver  braid  covering 
the  seams,  this  garment,  she  felt,  was  not  traceable 
to  its  original  source. 

When  it  had  been  placed  upon  Penrod,  the  stock 
ings  were  attached  to  it  by  a  system  of  safety-pins, 
not  very  perceptible  at  a  distance.  Next,  after  being 


22  PENROD 

severely  warned  against  stooping,  Penrod  got  his 
feet  into  the  slippers  he  wore  to  dancing-school 
— "patent-leather  pumps"  now  decorated  with  large 
pink  rosettes. 

"If  I  can't  stoop,"  he  began,  smolderingly,  "I'd 
like  to  know  how'm  I  goin'  to  kneel  in  the  pag " 

"You  must  manage!"  This,  uttered  through  pins, 
was  evidently  thought  to  be  sufficient. 

They  fastened  some  ruching  about  his  slender 
neck,  pinned  ribbons  at  random  all  over  him,  and 
then  Margaret  thickly  powdered  his  hair. 

"Oh,  yes,  that's  all  right,"  she  said,  replying  to  a 
question  put  by  her  mother.  "They  always  pow 
dered  their  hair  in  Colonial  times." 

"It  doesn't  seem  right  to  me — exactly,"  objected 
Mrs.  Schofield,  gently.  "Sir  Lancelot  must  have 
been  ever  so  long  before  Colonial  times." 

"That  doesn't  matter,"  Margaret  reassured  her. 
"Nobody'll  know  the  difference — Mrs.  Lora  Rew- 
bush  least  of  all.  I  don't  think  she  knows  a  thing 
about  it,  though,  of  course,  she  does  write  splendidly 
and  the  words  of  the  pageant  are  just  beautiful. 
Stand  still,  Penrod!"  (The  author  of  "Harold  Ra- 
morez"  had  moved  convulsively.)  "Besides,  pow 
dered  hair's  always  becoming.  Look  at  him.  You'd 
hardly  know  it  was  Penrod !" 

The  pride  and  admiration  with  which  she  pro 
nounced  this  undeniable  truth  might  have  been 
thought  tactless,  but  Penrod,  not  analytical,  found 


fOh,  that's  all  right/'  said  Margaret.     "They  always  pow 
dered  their  hair  in  Colonial  times" 


23 


24  PENROD 

his  spirits  somewhat  elevated.  No  mirror  was  in  his 
range  of  vision  and,  though  he  had  submitted  to 
cursory  measurements  of  his  person  a  week  earlier, 
he  had  no  previous  acquaintance  with  the  costume. 
He  began  to  form  a  not  unpleasing  mental  picture 
of  his  appearance,  something  somewhere  between  the 
portraits  of  George  Washington  and  a  vivid  memory 
of  Miss  Julia  Marlowe  at  a  matinee  of  "Twelfth 
Night." 

He  was  additionally  cheered  by  a  sword  which 
had  been  borrowed  from  a  neighbor,  who  was  a 
Knight  of  Pythias.  Finally  there  was  a  mantle,  an 
old  golf  cape  of  Margaret's.  Fluffy  polka-dots  of 
white  cotton  had  been  sewed  to  it  generously ;  also  it 
was  ornamented  with  a  large  cross  of  red  flannel, 
suggested  by  the  picture  of  a  Crusader  in  a  news 
paper  advertisement.  The  mantle  was  fastened  to 
Penrod's  shoulder  (that  is,  to  the  shoulder  of  Mrs. 
Schofield's  ex-bodice)  by  means  of  large  safety-pins, 
and  arranged  to  hang  down  behind  him,  touching  his 
heels,  but  obscuring  nowise  the  glory  of  his  fa£ade. 
Then,  at  last,  he  was  allowed  to  step  before  a  mirror. 

It  was  a  full-length  glass,  and  the  worst  immedi 
ately  happened.  It  might  have  been  a  little  less 
violent,  perhaps,  if  Penrod's  expectations  had  not 
been  so  richly  and  poetically  idealized ;  but  as  things 
were,  the  revolt  was  volcanic. 

Victor  Hugo's  account  of  the  fight  with  the  devil 
fish,  in  "Toilers  of  the  Sea,"  encourages  a  belief 


THE  COSTUME  25 

that,  had  Hugo  lived  and  increased  in  power,  he 
might  have  been  equal  to  a  proper  recital  of  the  half 
hour  which  followed  Penrod's  first  sight  of  himself 
as  the  Child  Sir  Lancelot.  But  Mr.  Wilson  himself, 
dastard  but  eloquent  foe  of  Harold  Ramorez,  could 
not  have  expressed,  with  all  the  vile  dashes  at  his 
command,  the  sentiments  which  animated  Penrod's 
bosom  when  the  instantaneous  and  unalterable  con 
viction  descended  upon  him  that  he  was  intended  by 
his  loved  ones  to  make  a  public  spectacle  of  himself 
in  his  sister's  stockings  and  part  of  an  old  dress  of 
bis  mother's. 

To  him  these  familiar  things  were  not  disguised  at 
all ;  there  seemed  no  possibility  that  the  whole  world 
would  not  know  them  at  a  glance.  The  stockings- 
were  worse  than  the  bodice.  He  had  been  assured 
that  these  could  not  be  recognized,  but,  seeing  them 
in  the  mirror,  he  was  sure  that  no  human  eye  could 
fail  at  first  glance  to  detect  the  difference  between 
himself  and  the  former  purposes  of  these  stockings. 
Fold,  wrinkle,  and  void  shrieked  their  history  with 
a  hundred  tongues,  invoking  earthquake,  eclipse,  and 
blue  ruin.  The  frantic  youth's  final  submission  was 
obtained  only  after  a  painful  telephonic  conversation 
between  himself  and  his  father,  the  latter  having  been 
called  up  and  upon,  by  the  exhausted  Mrs.  Schofield, 
to  subjugate  his  offspring  by  wire. 

The  two  ladies  made  all  possible  haste,  after  this, 
to  deliver  Penrod  into  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Lor  a  Hew- 


26  PENROD 

bush;  nevertheless,  they  found  opportunity  to  ex 
change  earnest  congratulations  upon  his  not  having 
recognized  the  humble  but  serviceable  paternal  gar 
ment  now  brilliant  about  the  Lancelotish  middle. 
Altogether,  they  felt  that  the  costume  was  a  success. 
Penrod  looked  like  nothing  ever  remotely  imagined 
by  Sir  Thomas  Malory  or  Alfred  Tennyson; — for 
that  matter,  he  looked  like  nothing  ever  before  seen 
on  earth;  but  as  Mrs.  Schofield  and  Margaret  took 
their  places  in  the  audience  at  the  Women's  Arts  and 
Guild  Hall,  the  anxiety  they  felt  concerning  Penrod's 
elocutionary  and  gesticular  powers,  so  soon  to  be  puf 
to  public  test,  was  pleasantly  tempered  by  their  satis 
faction  that,  owing  to  their  efforts,  his  outward  ap 
pearance  would  be  a  credit  to  the  family. 


I 


CHAPTER  IV 

DESPERATION 

Child  Sir  Lancelot  found  himself  in  a 
large  anteroom  behind  the  stage — a  room 
crowded  with  excited  children,  all  about 
equally  medieval  and  artistic.  Penrod  was  less  con 
spicuous  than  he  thought  himself,  but  he  was  so 
preoccupied  with  his  own  shame,  steeling  his  nerves 
to  meet  the  first  inevitable  taunting  reference  to  his 
sister's  stockings,  that  he  failed  to  perceive  there 
were  others  present  in  much  of  his  own  unmanned 
condition.  Retiring  to  a  corner,  immediately  upon 
his  entrance,  he  managed  to  unfasten  the  mantle 
at  the  shoulders,  and,  drawing  it  round  him,  pinned 

27 


28  PENROD 

it  again  at  his  throat  so  that  it  concealed  the  rest  of 
his  costume.  This  permitted  a  temporary  relief, 
but  increased  his  horror  of  the  moment  when,  in 
pursuance  of  the  action  of  the  "pageant,"  the  shelter 
ing  garment  must  be  cast  aside. 

Some  of  the  other  child  knights  were  also  keeping 
their  mantles  close  about  them.  A  few  of  the  envied 
opulent  swung  brilliant  fabrics  from  their  shoulders li 
airily,  showing  off  hired  splendours  from  a  profes 
sional  costumer's  stock,  while  one  or  two  were  insult 
ing  examples  of  parental  indulgence,  particularly 
little  Maurice  Levy,  the  Child  Sir  Galahad.  This 
shrinking  person  went  clamorously  about,  making  it 
known  everywhere  that  the  best  tailor  in  town  had 
been  dazzled  by  a  great  sum  into  constructing  his 
costume.  It  consisted  of  blue  velvet  knickerbockers, 
a  white  satin  waistcoat,  and  a  beautifully  cut  little 
swallow-tailed  coat  with  pearl  buttons.  The  medieval 
and  artistic  triumph  was  completed  by  a  mantle  of 
yellow  velvet,  and  little  white  boots,  sporting  gold 
tassels. 

All  this  radiance  paused  in  a  brilliant  career  and 
addressed  the  Child  Sir  Lancelot,  gathering  an  im 
mediately  formed  semicircular  audience  of  little  girls. 
Woman  was  ever  the  trailer  of  magnificence. 

"What  you  got  on?"  inquired  Mr.  Levy,  after  dis 
pensing  information.  "What  you  got  on  under  that 
ole  golf  cape?" 

Penrod  looked  upon  him  coldly.     At  other  times 


DESPERATION  29 

his  questioner  would  have  approached  him  with  def 
erence,  even  with  apprehension.  But  to-day  the 
Child  Sir  Galahad  was  somewhat  intoxicated  with 
the  power  of  his  own  beauty. 

"What  you  got  on?"  he  repeated. 

"Oh,  nothin',"  said  Penrod,  with  an  indifference 
assumed  at  great  cost  to  his  nervous  system. 

The  elate  Maurice  was  inspired  to  set  up  as  a  wit. 
"Then  you're  nakid !"  he  shouted  exultantly.  "Pen- 
rod  Schofield  says  he  hasn't  got  nothin'  on  under 
that  ole  golf  cape!  He's  nakid!  He's  nakid." 

The  indelicate  little  girls  giggled  delightedly,  and 
a  javelin  pierced  the  inwards  of  Penrod  when  he  saw 
that  the  Child  Elaine,  amber-curled  and  beautiful 
Marjorie  Jones,  lifted  golden  laughter  to  the  horrid 
jest. 

Other  boys  and  girls  came  flocking  to  the  up 
roar.  "He's  nakid,  he's  nakid!"  shrieked  the  Child 
Sir  Galahad.  "Penrod  Schofield's  nakid!  He's 
na-a-a-kid!'y 

"Hush,  hush !"  said  Mrs.  Lora  Rewbush,  pushing 
her  way  into  the  group.  "Remember,  we  are  all 
little  knights  and  ladies  to-day.  Little  knights  and 
ladies  of  the  Table  Round  would  not  make  so  much 
noise.  Now  children,  we  must  begin  to  take  our 
places  on  the  stage.  Is  everybody  here?" 

Penrod  made  his  escape  under  cover  of  this  diver 
sion:  he  slid  behind  Mrs.  Lora  Rewbush,  and  being 
near  a  door,  opened  it  unnoticed  and  went  out 


§0  PENROD 

quickly,  closing  it  behind  him.  He  found  himself 
in  a  narrow  and  vacant  hallway  which  led  to  a  door 
marked  "Janitor's  Room." 

Burning  with  outrage,  heart-sick  at  the  sweet, 
^old-blooded  laughter  of  Marjorie  Jones,  Penrod 
rested  his  elbows  upon  a  window-sill  and  speculated 
upon  the  effects  of  a  leap  from  the  second  story. 
One  of  the  reasons  he  gave  it  up  was  his  desire  to 
live  on  Maurice  Levy's  account:  already  he  was 
forming  educational  plans  for  the  Child  Sir  Galahad. 

A  stout  man  in  blue  overalls  passed  through  the 
hallway  muttering  to  himself  petulantly.  "I  reckon 
they'll  find  that  hall  hot  enough  now!9'  he  said,  con 
veying  to  Penrod  an  impression  that  some  too  femi 
nine  women  had  sent  him  upon  an  unreasonable 
errand  to  the  furnace.  He  went  into  the  Janitor's 
Room  and,  emerging  a  moment  later,  minus  the 
overalls,  passed  Penrod  again  with  a  bass  rumble — 
"Dern  'em !"  it  seemed  he  said — and  made  a  gloomy 
exit  by  the  door  at  the  upper  end  of  the  hallway. 

The  conglomerate  and  delicate  rustle  of  a  large, 
mannerly  audience  was  heard  as  the  janitor  opened 
and  closed  the  door ;  and  stage-fright  seized  the  boy. 
The  orchestra  began  an  overture,  and,  at  that,  Pen- 
rod,  trembling  violently,  tiptoed  down  the  hall  into 
the  Janitor's  Room.  It  was  a  cul-de-sac :  There  was 
no  outlet  save  by  the  way  he  had  come. 

Despairingly  he  doffed  his  mantle  and  looked  down 
upon  himself  for  a  last  sickening  assurance  that  the 


DESPERATION  31 

stockings  were  as  obviously  and  disgracefully  Mar 
garet's  as  they  had  seemed  in  the  mirror  at  home. 
For  a  moment  he  was  encouraged:  perhaps  he  was 
no  worse  than  some  of  the  other  boys.  Then  he  no 
ticed  that  a  safety-pin  had  opened ;  one  of  those  con 
necting  the  stockings  with  his  trunks.  He  sat  down 
to  fasten  it  and  his  eye  fell  for  the  first  time  with 
particular  attention  upon  the  trunks.  Until  this 
instant  he  had  been  preoccupied  with  the  stockings. 

Slowly  recognition  dawned  in  his  eyes. 

The  Schofields'  house  stood  on  a  corner  at  the 
intersection  of  two  main-travelled  streets;  the  fence 
was  low,  and  the  publicity  obtained  by  the  washable 
portion  of  the  family  apparel,  on  Mondays,  had 
often  been  painful  to  Penrod ;  for  boys  have  a  pecu 
liar  sensitiveness  in  these  matters.  A  plain,  matter- 
of-fact  washerwoman,  employed  by  Mrs.  Schofield, 
never  left  anything  to  the  imagination  of  the  passer 
by  ;  and  of  all  her  calm  display  the  scarlet  flaunting 
of  his  father's  winter  wear  had  most  abashed  Penrod. 
One  day  Marjorie  Jones,  all  gold  and  starch,  had 
passed  when  the  dreadful  things  were  on  the  line: 
Penrod  had  hidden  himself,  shuddering.  The  whole 
town,  he  was  convinced,  knew  these  garments  inti 
mately  and  derisively. 

And  now,  as  he  sat  in  the  janitor's  chair,  the  hor 
rible  and  paralyzing  recognition  came.  He  had  not 
an  instant's  doubt  that  every  fellow  actor,  as  well  as 
every  soul  in  the  audience,  would  recognize  what  his 


32  PENROD 

mother  and  sister  had  put  upon  him.  For  as  the 
awful  truth  became  plain  to  himself  it  seemed  bla 
zoned  to  the  world;  and  far,  far  louder  than  the 
stockings,  the  trunks  did  fairly  bellow  the  grisly 
secret :  whose  they  were  and  WHAT  they  were ! 

Most  people  have  suffered  in  a  dream  the  experi 
ence  of  finding  themselves  very  inadequately  clad  in 
the  midst  of  a  crowd  of  well-dressed  people,  and  such 
dreamers'  sensations  are  comparable  to  Penrod's, 
though  faintly,  because  Penrod  was  awake  and  in 
much  too  full  possession  of  the  most  active  capacities 
for  anguish. 

A  human  male  whose  dress  has  been  damaged,  or 
reveals  some  vital  lack,  suffers  from  a  hideous  and 
shameful  loneliness  which  makes  every  second  ab 
solutely  unbearable  until  he  is  again  as  others  of  his 
sex  and  species ;  and  there  is  no  act  or  sin  whatever 
too  desperate  for  him  in  his  struggle  to  attain  that 
condition.  Also,  there  is  absolutely  no  embarrass 
ment  possible  to  a  woman  which  is  comparable  to 
that  of  a  man  under  corresponding  circumstances; 
and  in  this  a  boy  is  a  man.  Gazing  upon  the  ghastly 
trunks,  the  stricken  Penrod  felt  that  he  was  a  degree 
worse  then  nude;  and  a  great  horror  of  himself 
filled  his  soul. 

"Penrod  Schofield!" 

The  door  into  the  hallway  opened,  and  a  voice 
demanded  him.  He  could  not  be  seen  from  the  hall 
way,  but  the  hue  and  the  cry  was  up ;  and  he  knew 


DESPERATION  33 

he  must  be  taken.  It  was  only  a  question  of  seconds. 
He  huddled  in  his  chair. 

"Penrod  Schofield!"  cried  Mrs.  Lora  Rewbush 
angrily. 

The  distracted  boy  rose  and,  as  he  did  so,  a  long 
pin  sank  deep  into  his  back.  He  extracted  it  fren- 
ziedly,  which  brought  to  his  ears  a  protracted  and 
sonorous  ripping,  too  easily  located  by  a  final  gesture 
of  horror. 

"Penrod  Schofield !"  Mrs.  Lora  Rewbush  had  come 
out  into  the  hallway. 

And  now,  in  this  extremity,  when  all  seemed  lost 
indeed,  particularly  including  honour,  the  dilating 
eye  of  the  outlaw  fell  upon  the  blue  overalls  which 
the  janitor  had  left  hanging  upon  a  peg. 

Inspiration  and  action  were  almost  simultaneous. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    PAGEANT    OF    THE    TABLE    ROUND 

PENROD!"  Mrs.  Lora  Rewbush  stood  in  the 
doorway,  indignantly  gazing  upon  a  Child 
Sir  Lancelot  mantled  to  the  heels.     *'Do  you 
know  that  you  have  kept  an  audience  of  five  hundred 
people  waiting   for  ten  minutes?"      She,  also,  de 
tained  the  five  hundred  while  she  spake  further. 

"Well,"  said  Penrod  contentedly,  as  he  followed 
her  toward  the  buzzing  stage,  "I  was  just  sitting 
there  thinking." 

Two  minutes  later  the  curtain  rose  on  a  medieval 
castle  hall  richly  done  in  the  new  stage-craft  made 
in  Germany  and  consisting  of  pink  and  blue  cheese- 

34 


PAGEANT  OF  THE  TABLE  ROUND     35 

eloth.  The  Child  King  Arthur  and  the  Child  Queen 
Guinevere  were  disclosed  upon  thrones,  with  the 
Child  Elaine  and  many  other  celebrities  in  attend 
ance;  while  about  fifteen  Child  Knights  were  seated 
at  a  dining-room  table  round,  which  was  covered  with 
a  large  Oriental  rug,  and  displayed  (for  the  knights' 
refreshment)  a  banquet  service  of  silver  loving-cups 
and  trophies,  borrowed  from  the  Country  Club  and 
some  local  automobile  manufacturers. 

In  addition  to  this  splendour,  potted  plants  and 
palms  have  seldom  been  more  lavishly  used  in  any 
castle  on  the  stage  or  off.  The  footlights  were  aided 
by  a  "spot-light"  from  the  rear  of  the  hall ;  and  the 
children  were  revealed  in  a  blaze  of  glory. 

A  hushed,  multitudinous  "O-0/&"  of  admiration 
came  from  the  decorous  and  delighted  audience. 
Then  the  children  sang  feebly : 

"Chuldrun  of  the  Tabul  Round, 
Lit-tul  knights  and  ladies  we. 

Let  our  voy-siz  all  resound 

Faith   and   hope    and   charitee!" 

The  Child  King  Arthur  rose,  extended  his  sceptre 
with  the  decisive  gesture  of  a  semaphore,  and  spake : 

"Each  littul  knight  and  lady  born 

Has  noble  deeds  to  perform 

In  thee  child-world  of  shivullree, 

No  matter  how  small  his  share  may  be. 

Let  each  advance  and  tell  in  turn 

What  claim  has  each  to  knighthood  earn." 


36  PENROD 

The  Child  Sir  Mordred,  the  villain  of  this  piece> 
rose  in  his  place  at  the  table  round,  and  piped  the 
only  lines  ever  written  by  Mrs.  Lora  Rewbush  which 
Penrod  Schofield  could  have  pronounced  without 
loathing.  Georgie  Bassett,  a  really  angelic  boy,  had 
been  selected  for  the  role  of  Mordred.  His  perfect 
conduct  had  earned  for  him  the  sardonic  sobriquet, 
"The  Little  Gentleman,"  among  his  boy  acquaint 
ances.  (Naturally  he  had  no  friends.)  Hence  the 
other  boys  supposed  that  he  had  been  selected  for 
the  wicked  Mordred  as  a  reward  of  virtue.  He  de^ 
claimed  serenely : 

"I  hight  Sir  Mordred  the  Child,  and  I  teach 
Lessons  of  selfishest  evil,  and  reach 
Out  into  darkness.     Thoughtless,  unkind, 
And  ruthless  is  Mordred,  and  unrefined/* 

The  Child  Mordred  was  properly  rebuked  ano. 
denied  the  accolade,  though,  like  the  others,  he 
seemed  to  have  assumed  the  title  already.  He  made 
a  plotter's  exit.  Whereupon  Maurice  Levy  rose, 
bowed,  announced  that  he  highted  the  Child  Sir 
Galahad,  and  continued  with  perfect  sang-froid: 

"I  am  the  purest  of  the  pure. 
I  have  but  kindest  thoughts  each  day. 

I  give  my  riches  to  the  poor, 
And  follow  in  the  Master's  way." 

This  elicited  tokens  of  approval  from  the  Child 
King  Arthur,  and  he  bade  Maurice  "stand  forth" 


PAGEANT  OF  THE  TABLE  ROUND  31 

and  come  near  the  throne,  a  command  obeyed  with 
the  easy  grace  of  conscious  merit. 

It  was  Penrod's  turn.  He  stepped  back  from  his 
chair,  the  table  between  him  and  the  audience,  and 
began  in  a  high,  breathless  monotone: 

"I  hight  Sir  Lancelot  du  Lake,  the  Child, 

Gentul-hearted,  meek,  and  mild. 
What  though   I'm  but  a  littul  child, 
Gentul-heartud,  meek,  and  mild, 
I  do  my  share  though  but — though  but " 


Penrod  paused  and  gulped.  The  voice  of  Mrs. 
Lora  Rewbush  was  heard  from  the  wings,  prompting 
irritably,  and  the  Child  Sir  Lancelot  repeated: 

"I  do  my  share  though  but — though  but  a  tot, 
I  pray  you  knight  Sir  Lancelot !" 

This  also  met  the  royal  favour,  and  Penrod  was 
bidden  to  join  Sir  Galahad  at  the  throne.  As  he 
crossed  the  stage,  Mrs.  Schofield  whispered  to 
Margaret : 

"That  boy!  He's  unpinned  his  mantle  and  fixed 
it  to  cover  his  whole  costume.  After  we  worked  so 
hard  to  make  it  becoming !" 

"Never  mind ;  he'll  have  to  take  the  cape  off  in  a 
minute,"  returned  Margaret.  She  leaned  forward 
suddenly,  narrowing  her  eyes  to  see  better.  "What 
is  that  thing  hanging  about  his  left  ankle?"  she 
whispered  uneasily.  "How  queer!  He  must  have 
got  tangled  in  something." 


38  PENROD 

"Where?"  asked  Mrs.  Schofield,  in  alarm. 

"His  left  foot.  It  makes  him  stumble.  Don't 
you  see?  It  looks — it  looks  like  an  elephant's  foot!" 

The  Child  Sir  Lancelot  and  the  Child  Sir  Galahad 
clasped  hands  before  their  Child  King.  Penrod  was 
conscious  of  a  great  uplift;  in  a  moment  he  would 
have  to  throw  aside  his  mantle,  but  even  so  he  was 
protected  and  sheltered  in  the  human  garment  of  a 
man.  His  stage-fright  had  passed,  for  the  audience 
was  but  an  indistinguishable  blur  of  darkness  be 
yond  the  dazzling  lights.  His  most  repulsive  speech 
(that  in  which  he  proclaimed  himself  a  "tot")  was 
over  and  done  with ;  and  now  at  last  the  small,  moist 
hand  of  the  Child  Sir  Galahad  lay  within  his  own. 
Craftily  his  brown  fingers  stole  from  Maurice's  palm 
to  the  wrist.  The  two  boys  declaimed  in  concert : 

"We  are  two  chuldrun  of  the  Tabul  Round 

Strewing  kindness  all  a-round. 
With  love  and  good  deeds  striving  ever  for  the  best, 

May  our  littul  efforts  e'er  be  blest. 
Two  littul  hearts  we  offer.     See 
United  in  love,,  faith,  hope,  and  char — Ow!" 

The  conclusion  of  the  duet  was  marred.  The 
Child  Sir  Galahad  suddenly  stiffened,  and,  uttering 
an  irrepressible  shriek  of  anguish,  gave  a  brief  ex 
hibition  of  the  contortionist's  art.  ("He's  twistin9 
my  wrist!  Dern  you,  leg  go!") 

The  voice  of  Mrs.  Lora  Rewbush  was  again  heard 
from  the  wings;  it  sounded  bloodthirsty.  Penrod 


PAGEANT  OF  THE  TABLE  ROUND  39 

released  his  victim;  and  the  Child  King  Arthurr 
somewhat  disconcerted,  extended  his  sceptre  andk 
with  the  assistance  of  the  enraged  prompter,  said : 

"Sweet   child-friends   of   the   Tabul   Round, 
In  brotherly  love  and  kindness  abound, 
Sir  Lancelot,  you  have  spoken  well, 
Sir  Galahad,  too,  as  clear  as  bell. 
So  now  pray  doff  your  mantles  gay. 
You  shall  be  knighted  this  very  day." 

And  Penrod  doffed  his  mantle. 

Simultaneously,  a  thick  and  vasty  gasp  came  from 
the  audience,  as  from  five  hundred  bathers  in  a 
wholly  unexpected  surf.  This  gasp  was  punctuated 
irregularly,  over  the  auditorium,  by  imperfectly  sub 
dued  screams  both  of  dismay  and  incredulous  joy, 
and  by  two  dismal  shrieks.  Altogether  it  was  an 
extraordinary  sound,  a  sound  never  to  be  forgotten 
by  any  one  who  heard  it.  It  was  almost  as  unfor 
gettable  as  the  sight  which  caused  it;  the  word 
"sight"  being  here  used  in  its  vernacular  sense,  for 
Penrod,  standing  unmantled  and  revealed  in  all  the 
medieval  and  artistic  glory  of  the  janitor's  blue  over 
alls,  falls  within  its  meaning. 

The  janitor  was  a  heavy  man,  and  his  overalls, 
upon  Penrod,  were  merely  oceanic.  The  boy  was  at 
once  swaddled  and  lost  within  their  blue  gulfs  and 
vast  saggings ;  and  the  left  leg,  too  hastily  rolled  up, 
had  descended  with  a  distinctively  elephantine  effect. 


40  PENROD 

as  Margaret  had  observed.     Certainly,  the  Child  Sir 
Lancelot  was  at  least  a  sight. 

It  is  probable  that  a  great  many  in  that  hall  must 
have  had,  even  then,  a  consciousness  that  they  were 
looking  on  at  History  in  the  Making.  A  supreme  act 
is  recognizable  at  sight:  it  bears  the  birthmark  of 
immortality.  But  Penrod,  that  marvellous  boy,  had 
begun  to  declaim,  even  with  the  gesture  of  flinging 
off  his  mantle  for  the  accolade: 

"I   first,   the   Child   Sir   Lancelot   du   Lake, 
Will  volunteer  to  knighthood  take, 
And  kneeling  here  before  your  throne 

IM 
vow  to 

He  finished  his  speech  unheard.  The  audience 
had  recovered  breath,  but  had  lost  self-control,  and 
there  ensued  something  later  described  by  a  partici 
pant  as  a  sort  of  cultured  riot. 

The  actors  in  the  "pageant"  were  not  so  dum- 
founded  by  Penrod's  costume  as  might  have  been 
expected.  A  few  precocious  geniuses  perceived  that 
the  overalls  were  the  Child  Lancelot's  own  comment 
on  maternal  intentions;  and  these  were  profoundly 
impressed:  they  regarded  him  with  the  grisly  admi 
ration  of  young  and  ambitious  criminals  for  a  jail- 
mate  about  to  be  distinguished  by  hanging.  But 
most  of  the  children  simply  took  it  to  be  the  case 
(a  little  strange,  but  not  startling)  that  Penrod's 
mother  had  dressed  him  like  that — which  is  pathetic. 
They  tried  to  go  on  with  the  "pageant." 


PAGEANT  OF  THE  TABLE  ROUND  41 

They  made  a  brief,  manful  effort.  But  the  irre 
pressible  outbursts  from  the  audience  bewildered 
them;  every  time  Sir  Lancelot  du  Lake  the  Child 
opened  his  mouth,  the  great,  shadowy  house  fell  into 
an  uproar,  and  the  children  into  confusion.  Strong 
women  and  brave  girls  in  the  audience  went  out  into 
the  lobby,  shrieking  and  clinging  to  one  another. 
Others  remained,  rocking  in  their  seats,  helpless  and 
spent.  The  neighbourhood  of  Mrs.  Schofield  and 
Margaret  became,  tactfully,  a  desert.  Friends  of 
the  author  went  behind  the  scenes  and  encountered 
a  hitherto  unknown  phase  of  Mrs.  Lora  Rewbush; 
they  said,  afterward,  that  she  hardly  seemed  to  know 
what  she  was  doing.  She  begged  to  be  left  alonf 
somewhere  with  Penrod  Schofield,  for  just  a  littl 
while. 

They  led  her  away. 


CHAPTER  VI 

EVENING 

THE  sun  was  setting  behind  the  back  fence 
(though  at  a  considerable  distance)  as  Pen- 
rod   Schofield   approached  that   fence   and 
looked  thoughtfully  up  at  the  top  of  it,  apparently 
having  in  mind  some  purpose  to  climb  up  and  sit 
there.     Debating  this,  he  passed  his  fingers  gently 
up  and  down  the  backs  of  his  legs ;  and  then  some 
thing  seemed   to   decide  him  not  to   sit   anywhere. 
He  leaned  against  the  fence,  sighed  profoundly,  and 
gazed  at  Duke,  his  wistful  dog. 

The  sigh  was  reminiscent:  episodes  of  simple 
pathos  were  passing  before  his  inward  eye.  About 
the  most  painful  was  the  vision  of  lovely  Marjorie 


EVENING  43 

Jones,  weeping  with  rage  as  the  Child  Sir  Lancelot 
was  dragged,  insatiate,  from  the  prostrate  and  howl 
ing  Child  Sir  Galahad,  after  an  onslaught  delivered 
the  precise  instant  the  curtain  began  to  fall  upon 
the  demoralized  "pageant."  And  then — oh,  pangs ! 
oh,  woman! — she  slapped  at  the  ruffian's  cheek,  as 
he  was  led  past  her  by  a  resentful  janitor;  and  turn 
ing,  flung  her  arms  round  the  Child  Sir  Galahad's 
neck. 

"Penrod  Schofield,  don't  you  dare  ever  sptaJc  to  me 
again  as  long  as  you  live!"  Maurice's  little  white 
boots  and  gold  tassels  had  done  their  work. 

At  home  the  late  Child  Sir  Lancelot  was  consigned 
to  a  locked  clothes-closet  pending  the  arrival  of 
his  father.  Mr.  Schofield  came  and,  shortly  after, 
there  was  put  into  practice  an  old  patriarchal  cus 
tom.  It  is  a  custom  of  inconceivable  antiquity: 
probably  primordial,  certainly  prehistoric,  but  still 
in  vogue  in  some  remaining  citadels  of  the  ancient 
simplicities  of  the  Republic. 

And  now,  therefore,  in  the  dusk,  Penrod  leaned 
against  the  fence  and  sighed. 

His  case  is  comparable  to  that  of  an  adult  who 
could  have  survived  a  similar  experience.  Looking 
back  to  the  sawdust-box,  fancy  pictures  this  com 
parable  adult  a  serious  and  inventive  writer  engaged 
in  congenial  literary  activities  in  a  private  retreat. 
We  see  this  period  marked  by  the  creation  of  some 
of  the  most  virile  passages  of  a  Work  dealing  ex- 


44  PENROD 

clusively  in  red  corpuscles  and  huge  primal  impulses. 
We  see  this  thoughtful  man  dragged  from  his  calm 
seclusion  to  a  horrifying  publicity;  forced  to  adopt 
the  stage  and,  himself  a  writer,  compelled  to  exploit 
the  repulsive  sentiments  of  an  author  not  only  per 
sonally  distasteful  to  him  but  whose  whole  method 
and  school  in  belles  lettres  he  despises. 

We  see  him  reduced  by  desperation  and  modesty  to 
stealing  a  pair  of  overalls.  We  conceive  him  to  have 
ruined,  then,  his  own  reputation,  and  to  have  utterly 
disgraced  his  family  5  next,  to  have  engaged  in  the 
duello  and  to  have  been  spurned  by  his  lady-love, 
thus  ]ost  to  him  (according  to  her  own  declaration) 
forever.  Finally,  we  must  behold :  imprisonment  by 
the  authorities;  the  third  degree — and  flagellation. 

We  conceive  our  man  decided  that  his  career  had 
been  perhaps  too  eventful.  Yet  Penrod  had  con 
densed  all  of  it  into  eight  hours. 

It  appears  that  he  had  at  least  some  shadowy  per 
ception  of  a  recent  fulness  of  life,  for,  as  he  leaned 
against  the  fence,  gazing  upon  his  wistful  Duke,  he 
sighed  again  and  murmured  aloud: 

"Well,  hasn't  this  been  a  day!" 

But  in  a  little  while  a  star  came  out,  freshly  lighted, 
from  the  highest  part  of  the  sky,  and  Penrod,  looking 
up,  noticed  it  casually  and  a  little  drowsily.  He 
yawned.  Then  he  sighed  once  more,  but  not 
niscently :  evening  had  come ;  the  day  was  over. 

It  was  a  sigh  of  pure  ennui. 


CHAPTER  VII 

EVILS    OF    DRINK 

NEXT  day,  Penrod  acquired  a  dime  by  a 
simple  and  antique  process  which  was  with 
out  doubt  sometimes  practised  by  the  boys 
of  Babylon.  When  the  teacher  of  his  class  in 
Sunday-school  requested  the  weekly  contribution, 
Penrod,  fumbling  honestly  (at  first)  in  the  wrong 
pockets,  managed  to  look  so  embarrassed  that  the 
gentle  lady  told  him  not  to  mind,  and  said  she  was 
often  forgetful  herself.  She  was  so  sweet  about  it 
that,  looking  into  the  future,  Penrod  began  to  feel 
confident  of  a  small  but  regular  income. 

At  the  close  of  the  afternoon  services  he  did  not  go 

45 


46  PENROD 

home,  but  proceeded  to  squander  the  funds  just  with 
held  from  China  upon  an  orgy  of  the  most  pungently 
forbidden  description.  In  a  Drug  Emporium,  near 
the  church,  he  purchased  a  five-cent  sack  of  candy 
consisting  for  the  most  part  of  the  heavily  flavoured 
hoofs  of  horned  cattle,  but  undeniably  substantial, 
and  so  generously  capable  of  resisting  solution  that 
the  purchaser  must  needs  be  avaricious  beyond  rea 
son  who  did  not  realize  his  money's  worth. 

Equipped  with  this  collation,  Penrod  contributed 
his  remaining  nickel  to  a  picture  show,  countenanced 
upon  the  seventh  day  by  the  legal  but  not  the 
moral  authorities.  Here,  in  cozy  darkness,  he 
placidly  insulted  his  liver  with  jaw-breaker  upon 
jaw-breaker  from  the  paper  sack,  and  in  a  surfeit 
of  content  watched  the  silent  actors  on  the 
screen. 

One  film  made  a  lasting  impression  upon  him. 
It  depicted  with  relentless  pathos  the  drunkard's 
progress;  beginning  with  his  conversion  to  beer  in 
the  company  of  loose  travelling  men;  pursuing  him 
through  an  inexplicable  lapse  into  evening  clothes 
and  the  society  of  some  remarkably  painful  ladies, 
next,  exhibiting  the  effects  of  alcohol  on  the  victim's 
domestic  disposition,  the  unfortunate  man  was  seen 
in  the  act  of  striking  his  wife  and,  subsequently,  his 
pleading  baby  daughter  with  an  abnormally  heavy 
walking-stick.  Their  flight — through  the  snow — 
to  seek  the  protection  of  a  relative  was  shown,  and 


EVILS  OF  DRINK  47 

iinally,  the  drunkard's  picturesque  behaviour  at  the 
portals  of  a  madhouse. 

So  fascinated  was  Penrod  that  he  postponed  his 
departure  until  this  film  came  round  again,  by  which 
time  he  had  finished  his  unnatural  repast  and  almost, 
but  not  quite,  decided  against  following  the  profes 
sion  of  a  drunkard  when  he  grew  up. 

Emerging,  satiated,  from  the  theatre,  a  public 
timepiece  before  a  jeweller's  shop  confronted  him 
with  an  unexpected  dial  and  imminent  perplexities. 
How  was  he  to  explain  at  home  these  hours  of  dal 
liance?  There  was  a  steadfast  rule  that  he  return 
direct  from  Sunday-school;  and  Sunday  rules  were 
important,  because  on  that  day  there  was  his  father, 
always  at  home  and  at  hand,  perilously  ready  for 
action.  One  of  the  hardest  conditions  of  boyhood  is 
the  almost  continuous  strain  put  upon  the  powers  of 
invention  by  the  constant  and  harassing  necessity 
for  explanations  of  every  natural  act. 

Proceeding  homeward  through  the  deepening  twi 
light  as  rapidly  as  possible,  at  a  gait  half  skip  and 
half  canter,  Penrod  made  up  his  mind  in  what  man 
ner  he  would  account  for  his  long  delay,  and,  as  he 
drew  nearer,  rehearsed  in  words  the  opening  passage 
of  his  defence. 

"Now  see  here,"  he  determined  to  begin;  "I  do 
not  wished  to  be  blamed  for  things  I  couldn't  help, 
nor  any  other  boy.  I  was  going  along  the  street  by 
a  cottage  and  a  lady  put  her  head  out  of  the  window 


48  PENROD 

and  said  her  husband  was  drunk  and  whipping  her 
and  her  little  girl,  and  she  asked  me  wouldn't  I  come 
in  and  help  hold  him.  So  I  went  in  and  tried  to  get 
hold  of  this  drunken  lady's  husband  where  he  was 
whipping  their  baby  daughter,  but  he  wouldn't  pay 
any  attention,  and  I  told  her  I  ought  to  be  getting 
home,  but  she  kep'  on  askin'  me  to  stay " 

At  this  point  he  reached  the  corner  of  his  own 
yard,  where  a  coincidence  not  only  checked  the  re 
hearsal  of  his  eloquence  but  happily  obviated  all  oc 
casion  for  it.  A  cab  from  the  station  drew  up  in 
front  of  the  gate,  and  there  descended  a  troubled 
lady  in  black  and  a  fragile  little  girl  about  three. 
Mrs.  Schofield  rushed  from  the  house  and  enfolded 
both  in  hospitable  arms. 

They  were  Penrod's  Aunt  Clara  and  cousin,  alsc 
Clara,  from  Dayton,  Illinois,  and  in  the  flurry  o 
their  arrival  everybody  forgot  to  put  Penrod  to  the 
question.  It  is  doubtful,  however,  if  he  felt  any 
relief;  there  may  have  been  even  a  slight,  uncon 
scious  disappointment  not  altogether  dissimilar  to 
that  of  an  actor  deprived  of  a  good  part. 

In  the  course  of  some  really  necessary  preparations 
for  dinner  he  stepped  from  the  bathroom  into  the 
pink-and-white  bedchamber  of  his  sister,  and  ad 
dressed  her  rather  thickly  through  a  towel. 

"When'd  mamma  find  out  Aunt  Clara  and  Cousin 
Clara  were  coming?" 

"Not  till  she  saw  them  from  the  window.      She 


EVILS  OF  DRINK  49 

just  happened  to  look  out  as  they  drove  up.  Aunt 
Clara  telegraphed  this  morning,  but  it  wasn't  de 
livered." 

"How  long  they  goin'  to  stay?" 

"I  don't  know." 

Penrod  ceased  to  rub  his  shining  face,  and  thought 
fully  tossed  the  towel  through  the  bathroom  door. 
"Uncle  John  won't  try  to  make  'em  come  back  home5 
I  guess,  will  he?"  (Uncle  John  was  Aunt  Clara's 
husband,  a  successful  manufacturer  of  stoves,  and 
his  lifelong  regret  was  that  he  had  not  entered  the 
Baptist  ministry.)  "He'll  let  'em  stay  here  quietly, 
won't  he?" 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  demanded  Mar 
garet,  turning  from  her  mirror.  "Uncle  John  sent 
them  here.  Why  shouldn't  he  let  them  stay?" 

Penrod  looked  crestfallen.  "Then  he  hasn't  taken 
to  drink?" 

"Certainly  not !"  She  emphasized  the  denial  with 
a,  pretty  peal  of  soprano  laughter. 

"Then  why,"  asked  her  brother  gloomily,  "why 
did  Aunt  Clara  look  so  worried  when  she  got  here?" 

"Good  gracious !  Don't  people  worry  about  any 
thing  except  somebody's  drinking?  Where  did  you 
get  such  an  idea?" 

"Well,"  he  persisted,  "you  don't  'know  it  ain't 
that." 

She  laughed  again,  whole-heartedly.  "Poor  Uncle 
John!  He  won't  even  allow  grape  juice  or  ginger 


50  PENROD 

ale  in  his  house.  They  came  because  they  were 
afraid  little  Clara  might  catch  the  measles.  She's 
very  delicate,  and  there's  such  an  epidemic  of  measles 
among  the  children  over  in  Dayton  the  schools  had 
to  be  closed.  Uncle  John  got  so  worried  that  last 
night  he  dreamed  about  it;  and  this  morning  he 
couldn't  stand  it  any  longer  and  packed  them  off  over 
here,  though  he  thinks  its  wicked  to  travel  on  Sun 
day.  And  Aunt  Clara  was  worried  when  she  got 
here  because  they'd  forgotten  to  check  her  trunk  and 
it  will  have  to  be  sent  by  express.  Now  what  in  the 
name  of  the  common  sense  put  it  into  your  head  that 

Uncle  John  had  taken  to " 

"Oh,  nothing."  He  turned  lifelessly  away  and 
went  downstairs,  a  new-born  hope  dying  in  his 
bosom.  Life  seems  so  needlessly  dull  sometimes. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


SCHOOL 

NEXT  morning,  when  he  had  once  more  re 
sumed  the  dreadful  burden  of  education, 
it  seemed  infinitely  duller.  And  yet  what 
pleasanter  sight  is  there  than  a  schoolroom  well  filled 
with  children  of  those  sprouting  years  just  before 
the  'teens?  The  casual  visitor,  gazing  from  the 
teacher's  platform  upon  these  busy  little  heads, 
needs  only  a  blunted  memory  to  experience  the  most 
agreeable  and  exhilarating  sensations.  Still,  for  the 
greater  part,  the  children  are  unconscious  of  the 
happiness  of  their  condition;  for  nothing  is  more 
pathetically  true  than  that  we  "never  know  when 

IB 


52  PENROD 

we  are  well  off."  The  boys  in  a  public  school  are  less 
aware  of  their  happy  state  than  are  the  girls;  and 
of  all  the  boys  in  his  room,  probably  Penrod  himself 
had  the  least  appreciation  of  his  felicity. 

He  sat  staring  at  an  open  page  of  a  textbook,  but 
not  studying;  not  even  reading;  not  even  thinking. 
Nor  was  he  lost  in  a  reverie:  his  mind's  eye  was 
shut,  as  his  physical  eye  might  well  have  been,  for 
the  optic  nerve,  flaccid  with  ennui,  conveyed  nothing 
whatever  of  the  printed  page  upon  which  the  orb  of 
vision  was  partially  focused.  Penrod  was  doing 
something  very  unusual  and  rare,  something  almost 
never  accomplished  except  by  coloured  people  or  by 
a  boy  in  school  on  a  spring  day :  he  was  doing  really 
nothing  at  all.  He  was  merely  a  state  of  being. 

From  the  street  a  sound  stole  in  through  the  oper 
window,  and  abhorring  Nature  began  to  fill  tha 
vacuum  called  Penrod  Schofield;  for  the  sound  was 
the  spring  song  of  a  mouth-organ,  coming  down  the 
sidewalk.  The  windows  were  intentionally  above 
the  level  of  the  eyes  of  the  seated  pupils;  but  the 
picture  of  the  musician  was  plain  to  Penrod,  painted 
for  him  by  a  quality  in  the  runs  and  trills,  partaking 
of  the  oboe,  of  the  calliope,  and  of  cats  in  anguish; 
an  excruciating  sweetness  obtained  only  by  the 
wallowing,  walloping  yellow-pink  palm  of  a  hand 
whose  back  was  Congo  black  and  shiny.  The  music 
came  down  the  street  and  passed  beneath  the  win 
dow,  accompanied  by  the  care-free  shuffling  of  a  pair 


SCHOOL  53 

of  old  shoes  scuffing  syncopations  on  the  cement  side 
walk.  It  passed  into  the  distance ;  became  faint  and 
blurred;  was  gone.  Emotion  stirred  in  Penrod  a 
great  and  poignant  desire,  but  (perhaps  fortu 
nately)  no  fairy  godmother  made  her  appearance. 
Otherwise  Penrod  would  have  gone  down  the  street  in 
a  black  skin,  playing  the  mouth-organ,  and  an  unpre 
pared  coloured  youth  would  have  found  himself  en 
joying  educational  advantages  for  which  he  had  no 
ambition  whatever. 

Roused  from  perfect  apathy,  the  boy  cast  about 
the  schoolroom  an  eye  wearied  to  nausea  by  the  per 
petual  vision  of  the  neat  teacher  upon  the  platform, 
the  backs  of  the  heads  of  the  pupils  in  front  of  him, 
and  the  monotonous  stretches  of  blackboard  threat 
eningly  defaced  by  arithmetical  formulae  and  other 
insignia  of  torture.  Above  the  blackboard,  the  walls 
of  the  high  room  were  of  white  plaster — white  with 
the  qualified  whiteness  of  old  snow  in  a  soft  coal 
town.  This  dismal  expanse  was  broken  by  four 
lithographic  portraits,  votive  offerings  of  a  thought 
ful  publisher.  The  portraits  were  of  good  and  great 
men,  kind  men;  men  who  loved  children.  Their 
faces  were  noble  and  benevolent.  But  the  litho 
graphs  offered  the  only  rest  for  the  eyes  of  children 
fatigued  by  the  everlasting  sameness  of  the  school 
room.  Long  day  after  long  day,  interminable  week 
in  and  interminable  week  out,  vast  month  on  vast 
month,  the  pupils  sat  with  those  four  portraits 


54  PENROD 

beaming  kindness  down  upon  them.  The  faces 
became  permanent  in  the  consciousness  of  the  chil 
dren  ;  they  became  an  obsession — in  and  out  of  school 
the  children  were  never  free  of  them.  The  four 
faces  haunted  the  minds  of  children  falling  asleep; 
they  hung  upon  the  minds  of  children  waking  at 
night;  they  rose  forebodingly  in  the  minds  of  chil 
dren  waking  in  the  morning;  they  became  mon^ 
strously  alive  in  the  minds  of  children  lying  sick  of 
fever.  Never,  while  the  children  of  that  schoolroom 
lived,  would  they  be  able  to  forget  one  detail  of  the 
four  lithographs :  the  hand  of  Longfellow  was  fixed, 
for  them,  forever,  in  his  beard.  And  by  a  simple  and 
unconscious  association  of  ideas,  Penrod  Schofield 
was  accumulating  an  antipathy  for  the  gentle  Long 
fellow  and  for  James  Russell  Lowell  and  for  Oliver 
Wendell  Holmes  and  for  John  Greenleaf  Whittier, 
which  would  never  permit  him  to  peruse  a  work  of 
one  of  those  great  New  Englanders  without  a  feeling 
of  personal  resentment. 

His  eyes  fell  slowly  and  inimically  from  the  brow  of 
Whittier  to  the  braid  of  reddish  hair  belonging  to 
Victorine  Riordan,  the  little  octoroon  girl  who  sat 
directly  in  front  of  him.  Victorine's  back  was  as 
familiar  to  Penrod  as  the  necktie  of  Oliver  Wendell 
Holmes.  So  was  her  gayly  coloured  plaid  waist. 
He  hated  the  waist  as  he  hated  Victorine  herself, 
without  knowing  why.  Enforced  companionship  in 
large  quantities  and  on  an  equal  basis  between  the 


SCHOOL  55 

sexes  appears  to  sterilize  the  affections,  and  school 
room  romances  are  few. 

Victorine's  hair  was  thick,  and  the  brickish  glints 
in  it  were  beautiful,  but  Penrod  was  very  tired  of  it. 
A  tiny  knot  of  green  ribbon  finished  off  the  braid  and 
kept  it  from  unravelling;  and  beneath  the  ribbon 
there  was  a  final  wisp  of  hair  which  was  just  long 
enough  to  repose  upon  Penrod's  desk  when  Vic^ 
torine  leaned  back  in  her  seat.  It  was  there  now. 
Thoughtfully,  he  took  the  braid  between  thumb  and 
forefinger,  and,  without  disturbing  Victorine,  dipped 
the  end  of  it  and  the  green  ribbon  into  the  ink-wel] 
of  his  desk.  He  brought  hair  and  ribbon  forth  drip 
ping  purple  ink,  and  partially  dried  them  on  a  blot 
ter,  though,  a  moment  later  when  Victorine  leaned 
forward,  they  were  still  able  to  add  a  few  picturesque 
touches  to  the  plaid  waist. 

Rudolph  Krauss,  across  the  aisle  from  Penrod, 
watched  the  operation  with  protuberant  eyes,  fas- 
cinated.  Inspired  to  imitation,  he  took  a  piece  of 
chalk  from  his  pocket  and  wrote  "RATS"  across  the 
shoulder-blades  of  the  boy  in  front  of  him,  then 
looked  across  appealingly  to  Penrod  for  tokens  of 
congratulation.  Penrod  yawned.  It  may  not  be 
denied  that  at  times  he  appeared  to  be  a  very  self- 
centred  boy. 


CHAPTER  IX 

SOARING 

HALF  the  members  of  the  class  passed  out  to 
a  recitation-room,  the  empurpled  Victorine 
among  them,  and  Miss  Spence  started  the 
remaining  half  through  the  ordeal  of  trial  by  mathe 
matics.  Several  boys  and  girls  were  sent  to  the 
blackboard,  and  Penrod,  spared  for  the  moment,  fol 
lowed  their  operations  a  little  while  with  his  eyes, 
but  not  with  his  mind;  then,  sinking  deeper  in  his 
seat,  limply  abandoned  the  effort.  His  eyes  re 
mained  open,  but  saw  nothing;  the  routine  of  the 
arithmetic  lesson  reached  his  ears  in  familiar,  mean 
ingless  sounds,  but  he  heard  nothing;  and  yet,  this 


SOARING  57 

time,  he  was  profoundly  occupied.  He  had  drifted 
away  from  the  painful  land  of  facts,  and  floated  now 
in  a  new  sea  of  fancy  which  he  had  just  discovered. 

Maturity  forgets  the  marvellous  realness  of  a  boy's 
day-dreams,  how  colourful  they  glow,  rosy  and  living, 
and  how  opaque  the  curtain  closing  down  between 
the  dreamer  and  the  actual  world.  That  curtain  is 
almost  sound-proof,  too,  and  causes  more  throat- 
trouble  among  parents  than  is  suspected. 

The  nervous  monotony  of  the  schoolroom  inspires 
a  sometimes  unbearable  longing  for  something  as 
tonishing  to  happen,  and  as  every  boy's  fundamen 
tal  desire  is  to  do  something  astonishing  himself,  so 
as  to  be  the  centre  of  all  human  interest  and  awe. 
it  was  natural  that  Penrod  should  discover  in  fancy 
the  delightful  secret  of  self-levitation.  He  found, 
in  this  curious  series  of  imaginings,  during  the  lesson 
in  arithmetic,  that  the  atmosphere  may  be  navi 
gated  as  by  a  swimmer  under  water,  but  with  in 
finitely  greater  ease  and  with  perfect  comfort  in 
breathing.  In  his  mind  he  extended  his  arms  grace 
fully,  at  a  level  with  his  shoulders,  and  delicately 
paddled  the  air  with  his  hands,  which  at  once  caused 
him  to  be  drawn  up  out  of  his  seat  and  elevated 
gently  to  a  position  about  midway  between  the  floor 
and  the  ceiling,  where  he  came  to  an  equilibrium  and 
floated;  a  sensation  not  the  less  exquisite  because 
of  the  screams  of  his  fellow  pupils,  appalled  by  the 
miracle.  Miss  Spence  herself  was  amazed  and 


58  PENROD 

frightened,  but  he  only  smiled  down  carelessly  upon 
her  when  she  commanded  him  to  return  to  earth; 
and  then,  when  she  climbed  upon  a  desk  to  pull  him 
down,  he  quietly  paddled  himself  a  little  higher, 
leaving  his  toes  just  out  of  her  reach.  Next,  he 
swam  through  a  few  slow  somersaults  to  show  his 
mastery  of  the  new  art,  and,  with  the  shouting  of  the 
dumfounded  scholars  ringing  in  his  ears,  turned  on 
his  side  and  floated  swiftly  out  of  the  window,  im 
mediately  rising  above  the  housetops,  while  people 
in  the  street  below  him  shrieked,  and  a  trolley  car 
stopped  dead  in  wonder. 

With  almost  no  exertion  he  paddled  himself,  many 
yards  at  a  stroke,  to  the  girls'  private  school  where 
Marjorie  Jones  was  a  pupil — Marjorie  Jones  of  the 
amber  curls  and  the  golden  voice !  Long  before  the 
"Pageant  of  the  Table  Round,"  she  had  offered 
Penrod  a  hundred  proofs  that  she  considered  him 
wholly  undesirable  and  ineligible.  At  the  Friday 
Afternoon  Dancing  Class  she  consistently  incited  and 
led  the  laughter  at  him  whenever  Professor  Bartet 
singled  him  out  for  admonition  in  matters  of  feet  and 
decorum.  And  but  yesterday  she  had  chid  him  for 
his  slavish  lack  of  memory  in  daring  to  offer  her  a 
greeting  on  the  way  to  Sunday-school.  "Well!  I 
expect  you  must  forgot  I  told  you  never  to  speak  to 
me  again !  If  I  was  a  boy,  I'd  be  too  proud  to  come 
hanging  around  people  that  don't  speak  to  me,  even 
if  I  was  the  Worst  Boy  in  Town !"  So  she  flouted 


SOAKING  59 

him.  But  now,  as  he  floated  in  through  the  window 
of  her  classroom  and  swam  gently  along  the  ceiling 
like  an  escaped  toy  balloon,  she  fell  upon  her  knees 
beside  her  little  desk,  and,  lifting  up  her  arms  toward 
him,  cried  with  love  and  admiration: 

"Oh,  Penrodl" 

He  negligently  kicked  a  globe  from  the  high  chan 
delier,  and,  smiling  coldly,  floated  out  through  the 
hall  to  the  front  steps  of  the  school,  while  Marjorie 
followed,  imploring  him  to  grant  her  one  kind  look. 

In  the  street  an  enormous  crowd  had  gathered,, 
headed  by  Miss  Spence  and  a  brass  band ;  and  a  cheer 
from  a  hundred  thousand  throats  shook  the  very 
ground  as  Penrod  swam  overhead.  Marjorie  knelt 
upon  the  steps  and  watched  adoringly  while  Penrod 
took  the  drum-major's  baton  and,  performing  sinu 
ous  evolutions  above  the  crowd,  led  the  band.  Then 
he  threw  the  baton  so  high  that  it  disappeared  from 
sight ;  but  he  went  swiftly  after  it,  a  double  delight, 
for  he  had  not  only  the  delicious  sensation  of  rocket 
ing  safely  up  and  up  into  the  blue  sky,  but  also  that 
of  standing  in  the  crowd  below,  watching  and  admir 
ing  himself  as  he  dwindled  to  a  speck,  disappeared 
and  then,  emerging  from  a  cloud,  came  speeding 
down,  with  the  baton  in  his  hand,  to  the  level  of  the 
treetops,  where  he  beat  time  for  the  band  and  the 
vast  throng  and  Marjorie  Jones,  who  all  united  in 
the  "Star-spangled  Banner"  in  honour  of  his  aerial 
achievements.  It  was  a  great  moment. 


60  PENROD 

It  was  a  great  moment,  but  something  seemed  to 
threaten  it.  The  face  of  Miss  Spence  looking  up 
from  the  crowd  grew  too  vivid — unpleasantly  vivid. 
She  was  beckoning  him  and  shouting,  "Come  down, 
Penrod  Schofield!  Penrod  Schofield,  come  down 
here!"  He  could  hear  her  above  the  band  and  the 
singing  of  the  multitude ;  she  seemed  intent  on  spoil 
ing  everything.  Marjorie  Jones  was  weeping  to 
show  how  sorry  she  was  that  she  had  formerly 
slighted  him,  and  throwing  kisses  to  prove  that  she 
loved  him;  but  Miss  Spence  kept  jumping  between 
him  and  Marjorie,  incessantly  calling  his  name. 

He  grew  more  and  more  irritated  with  her ;  he  was 
the  most  important  person  in  the  world  and  was 
engaged  in  proving  it  to  Marjorie  Jones  and  the 
whole  city,  and  yet  Miss  Spence  seemed  to  feel  she 
still  had  the  right  to  order  him  about  as  she  did  in 
the  old  days  when  he  was  an  ordinary  schoolboy. 
He  was  furious;  he  was  sure  she  wanted  him  to  do 
something  disagreeable.  It  seemed  to  him  that  she 
had  screamed  "Penrod  Schofield !"  thousands  of  times. 

From  the  beginning  of  his  aerial  experiments  in 
his  own  schoolroom,  he  had  not  opened  his  lips, 
knowing  somehow  that  one  of  the  requirements  for 
air  floating  is  perfect  silence  on  the  part  of  the 
floater;  but,  finally,  irritated  beyond  measure  by 
Miss  Spence's  clamorous  insistence,  he  was  unable 
to  restrain  an  indignant  rebuke — and  immediately 
iame  to  earth  with  a  frightful  bump. 


SOARING  61 

Miss  Spence — in  the  flesh — had  directed  toward 
the  physical  body  of  the  absent  Penrod  an  inquiry  as 
to  the  fractional  consequences  of  dividing  seventeen 
apples,  fairly,  among  three  boys,  and  she  was  sur 
prised  and  displeased  to  receive  no  answer  although 
to  the  best  of  her  knowledge  and  belief,  he  was  look 
ing  fixedly  at  her.  She  repeated  her  question  crisply, 
without  visible  effect;  then  summoned  him  by  name 
with  increasing  asperity.  Twice  she  called  him, 
while  all  his  fellow  pupils  turned  to  stare  at  the  gaz 
ing  boy.  She  advanced  a  step  from  the  platform. 

"Penrod  Schofield!" 

"Oh,  my  goodness !"  he  shouted  suddenly.  "Can't 
you  keep  still  a  minute?" 


CHAPTER  X 

UNCLE    JOHN 

MISS  SPENCE  gasped.  So  did  the  pupils. 
The  whole  room  filled  with  a  swelling 
conglomerate  "0-o-o-o-h!" 

As  for  Penrod  himself,  the  walls  reeled  with  the 
shock.  He  sat  with  his  mouth  open,  a  mere  lump 
of  stupefaction.  For  the  appalling  words  that  he 
had  hurled  at  the  teacher  were  as  inexplicable  to  him 
as  to  any  other  who  heard  them. 

Nothing  is  more  treacherous  than  the  human  mind ; 
nothing  else  so  loves  to  play  the  Iscariot.  Even 
when  patiently  bullied  into  a  semblance  of  order  and 
training,  it  may  prove  but  a  base  and  shifty  servant. 


UNCLE  JOHN  63 

And  Penrod's  mind  was  not  his  servant;  it  was  a 
master,  with  the  April  wind's  whims ;  and  it  had  just 
played  him  a  diabolical  trick.  The  very  jolt  with 
which  he  came  back  to  the  schoolroom  in  the  midst 
of  his  fancied  flight  jarred  his  day-dream  utterly  out 
of  him ;  and  he  sat,  open-mouthed  in  horror  at  what 
he  had  said. 

The  unanimous  gasp  of  awe  was  protracted.  Miss 
Spence,  however,  finally  recovered  her  breath,  and, 
returning  deliberately  to  the  platform,  faced  the 
school.  "And  then,  for  a  little  while,"  as  pathetic 
stories  sometimes  recount,  "everything  was  very 
still."  It  was  so  still,  in  fact,  that  Penrod's  new 
born  notoriety  could  almost  be  heard  growing. 
This  grisly  silence  was  at  last  broken  by  the 
teacher. 

"Penrod  Schofield,  stand  up!" 

The  miserable  child  obeyed. 

"What  did  you  mean  by  speaking  to  me  in  that 
way?" 

He  hung  his  head,  raked  the  floor  with  the  side  of 
his  shoe,  swayed,  swallowed,  looked  suddenly  at  his 
hands  with  the  air  of  never  having  seen  them  before, 
then  clasped  them  behind  him.  The  school  shiv 
ered  in  ecstatic  horror,  every  fascinated  eye  upon 
him;  yet  there  was  not  a  soul  in  the  room  but  was 
profoundly  grateful  to  him  for  the  sensation — in 
cluding  the  offended  teacher  herself.  Unhappily,  all 
this  gratitude  was  unconscious  and  altogether  differ^ 


64  PENROD 

ent  from  the  kind  which  results  in  testimonials  and 
loving-cups.  On  the  contrary! 

"Penrod  Schofield!" 

He  gulped. 

"Answer  me  at  once!  Why  did  you  speak  to  me 
like  that?" 

"I  was "     He  choked,  unable  to  continue. 

"Speak  out!" 

"I  was  just — thinking,"  he  managed  to  stammer. 

"That  will  not  do,"  she  returned  sharply.  "I  wish 
to  know  immediately  why  you  spoke  as  you  did." 

The  stricken  Penrod  answered  helplessly: 

"Because  I  was  just  thinking." 

Upon  the  very  rack  he  could  have  offered  no 
ampler  truthful  explanation.  It  was  all  he  kneft 
about  it. 

"Thinking  what?" 

"Just  thinking." 

Miss  Spence's  expression  gave  evidence  that  her 
power  of  self-restraint  was  undergoing  a  remarkable 
test.  However,  after  taking  counsel  with  herself, 
she  commanded: 

"Come  here!" 

He  shuffled  forward,  and  she  placed  a  chair  upon 
the  platform  near  her  own. 

"Sit  there!" 

Then  (but  not  at  all  as  if  nothing  had  happened), 
she  continued  the  lesson  in  arithmetic.  Spiritually 
the  children  may  have  learned  a  lesson  in  very  small 


UNCLE  JOHN  65 

fractions  indeed  as  they  gazed  at  the  fragment  of  sin 
before  them  on  the  stool  of  penitence.  They  all 
stared  at  him  attentively  with  hard  and  passion 
ately  interested  eyes,  in  which  there  was  never  one 
trace  of  pity.  It  cannot  be  said  with  precision  that 
he  writhed;  his  movement  was  more  a  slow,  con 
tinuous  squirm,  effected  with  a  ghastly  assumption 
of  languid  indifference;  while  his  gaze,  in  the  effort 
to  escape  the  marble-hearted  glare  of  his  schoolmates, 
affixed  itself  with  apparent  permanence  to  the  waist 
coat  button  of  James  Russell  Lowell  just  above  the 
«U"  in  "Russell." 

Classes  came  and  classes  went,  grilling  him  with 
eyes.  Newcomers  received  the  story  of  the  crime 
in  darkling  whispers ;  and  the  outcast  sat  and  sat 
and  sat,  and  squirmed  and  squirmed  and  squirmed. 
(He  did  one  or  two  things  with  his  spine  which  a 
professional  contortionist  would  have  observed  with 
real  interest.)  And  all  this  while  of  freezing  sus 
pense  was  but  the  criminal's  detention  awaiting  trial. 
A  known  punishment  may  be  anticipated  with  some 
measure  of  equanimity;  at  least,  the  prisoner  may 
prepare  himself  to  undergo  it;  but  the  unknown 
looms  more  monstrous  for  every  attempt  to  guess  it. 
Penrod's  crime  was  unique;  there  were  no  rules  to 
aid  him  in  estimating  the  vengeance  to  fall  upon  him 
for  it.  What  seemed  most  probable  was  that  he 
would  be  expelled  from  the  schools  in  the  presence 
of  his  family,  the  mayor,  and  council,  and  afterward 


66  PENROD 

whipped  by  his  father  upon  the  State  House  steps, 
with  the  entire  city  as  audience  by  invitation  of  the 
authorities. 

Noon  came.  The  rows  of  children  filed  out,  every 
head  turning  for  a  last  unpleasingly  speculative  look 
at  the  outlaw.  Then  Miss  Spence  closed  the  doo> 
into  the  cloakroom  and  that  into  the  big  hall,  and 
came  and  sat  at  her  desk,  near  Penrod.  The  tramp 
ing  of  feet  outside,  the  shrill  calls  and  shouting  and 
the  changing  voices  of  the  older  boys  ceased  to  be 
heard — and  there  was  silence.  Penrod,  still  affect 
ing  to  be  occupied  with  Lowell,  was  conscious  that 
Miss  Spence  looked  at  him  intently. 

"Penrod,"  she  said  gravely,  "what  excuse  have 
you  to  offer  before  I  report  your  case  to  the  prin 
cipal?" 

The  word  "principal"  struck  him  to  the  vitals. 
Grand  Inquisitor,  Grand  Khan,  Sultan,  Emperor, 
Tsar,  Caesar  Augustus — these  are  comparable.  He 
stopped  squirming  instantly,  and  sat  rigid. 

"I  want  an  answer.  Why  did  you  shout  those 
words  at  me?" 

"Well,"  he  murmured,  "I  was  just — thinking.'* 

"Thinking  what?"  she  asked  sharply. 

"I  don't  know." 

"That  won't  do!" 

He  took  his  left  ankle  in  his  right  hand  and  re 
garded  it  helplessly. 

"That  won't  do,  Penrod  Schofield,"  she  repeated 


The    outcast    sat    and    sat    and    sat,    and    squirmed    and 

squirmed  and  squirmed 

67 


68  PENROD 

severely.  "If  that  is  all  the  excuse  you  have  to  offer 
I  shall  report  your  case  this  instant!" 

And  she  rose  with  fatal  intent. 

But  Penrod  was  one  of  those  whom  the  precipice 
inspires.  "Well,  I  have  got  an  excuse." 

"Well" — she  paused  impatiently — "what  is  it?" 

He  had  not  an  idea,  but  he  felt  one  coming,  and 
replied  automatically,  in  a  plaintive  tone: 

"I  guess  anybody  that  had  been  through  what  7 
had  to  go  through,  last  night,  would  think  they  had 
an  excuse." 

Miss  Spence  resumed  her  seat,  though  with  the 
air  of  being  ready  to  leap  from  it  instantly. 

"What  has  last  night  to  do  with  your  insolence 
to  me  this  morning?" 

"Well,  I  guess  you'd  see,"  he  returned,  emphasiz 
ing  the  plaintive  note,  "if  you  knew  what  7  know." 

"Now,  Penrod,"  she  said,  in  a  kinder  voice,  "I  have 
a  high  regard  for  your  mother  and  father,  and  it 
would  hurt  me  to  distress  them,  but  you  must  either 
tell  me  what  was  the  matter  with  you  or  I'll  have 
to  take  you  to  Mrs.  Houston." 

"Well,  ain't  I  going  to?"  he  cried,  spurred  by 
the  dread  name.  "It's  because  I  didn't  sleep  last 
night." 

"Were  you  ill?"  The  question  was  put  with  some 
dryness. 

He  felt  the  dryness.     "No'm;  7  wasn't." 

"Then  if  someone  in  your  family  was  so  ill  that 


UNCLE  JOHN  69 

even  you  were  kept  up  all  night,  how  does  it  happen 
they  let  you  come  to  school  this  morning?" 

"It  wasn't  illness,"  he  returned,  shaking  his  head 
mournfully.  "It  was  lots  worse'n  anybody's  being 
sick.  It  was — it  was— well,  it  was  jest  awful." 

"What  was?"  He  remarked  with  anxiety  the  in 
credulity  in  her  tone. 

"It  was  about  Aunt  Clara,"  he  said. 

"Your  Aunt  Clara!"  she  repeated.  "Do  you 
mean  your  mother's  sister  who  married  Mr.  Farry 
of  Dayton,  Illinois?" 

"Yes — Uncle  John,"  returned  Penrod  sorrowfully. 
"The  trouble  was  about  him." 

Miss  Spence  frowned  a  frown  which  he  rightly  in 
terpreted  as  one  of  continued  suspicion.  "She  and 
I  were  in  school  together,"  she  said.  "I  used  to 
know  her  very  well,  and  I've  always  heard  her  mar 
ried  life  was  entirely  happy.  I  don't " 

"Yes,  it  was,"  he  interrupted,  "until  last  year 
when  Uncle  John  took  to  running  with  travelling 
men " 

"What?" 

"Yes'm."  He  nodded  solemnly.  "That  was  whal 
started  it.  At  first  he  was  a  good,  kind  husbandj 
but  these  travelling  men  would  coax  him  into  a  salooir 
on  his  way  home  from  work,  and  they  got  him  io 
drinking  beer  and  then  ales,  wines,  liquors,  and 
cigars ~" 

"Penrod!" 


70  PENROD 

"Ma'am?" 

"I'm  not  inquiring  into  your  Aunt  Clara's  private 
affairs ;  I'm  asking  you  if  you  have  anything  to  say 
which  would  palliate " 

"That's  what  I'm  tryin'  to  tell  you  about,  Miss 
Spence,"  he  pleaded, — "if  you'd  jest  only  let  me. 
When  Aunt  Clara  and  her  little  baby  daughter  got 
to  our  house  last  night " 

"You  say  Mrs.  Farry  is  visiting  your  mother?" 

"Yes'm — not  just  visiting — you  see,  she  had  to 
come.  Well  of  course,  little  baby  Clara,  she  was  so 
bruised  up  and  mauled,  where  he'd  been  hittin'  her 
with  his  cane " 

"You  mean  that  your  uncle  had  done  such  a  thing 
as  that!"  exclaimed  Miss  Spence,  suddenly  disarmed 
by  this  scandal. 

"Yes'm,  and  mamma  and  Margaret  had  to  sit  up 
all  night  nursin'  little  Clara — and  Aunt  Clara  ivas  in 
such  a  state  somebody  had  to  keep  talkin'  to  her,  and 
there  wasn't  anybody  but  me  to  do  it,  so  I " 

"But  where  was  your  father?"  she  cried. 

"Ma'am?" 

"Where  was  your  father  while " 

"Oh — papa?"  Penrod  paused,  reflected;  then 
brightened.  "Why,  he  was  down  at  the  train, 
waitin'  to  see  if  Uncle  John  would  try  to  follow  'em 
and  make  'em  come  home  so's  he  could  persecute  'em 
some  more.  I  wanted  to  do  that,  but  they  said  if 
he  did  come  I  mightn't  be  strong  enough  to  hold  him 


UNCLE  JOHN  71 

and "  The  brave  lad  paused  again,  modestly. 

Miss  Spence's  expression  was  encouraging.  Her 
eyes  were  wide  with  astonishment,  and  there  may 
have  been  in  them,  also,  the  mingled  beginnings  of 
admiration  and  self-reproach.  Penrod,  warming  to 
his  work,  felt  safer  every  moment. 

"And  so,"  he  continued,  "I  had  to  sit  up  with  Aunt 
Clara.  She  had  some  pretty  big  bruises,  too,  and  1 
had  to " 

"But  why  didn't  they  send  for  a  doctor?"  How 
ever,  this  question  was  only  a  flicker  of  dying  in 
credulity. 

"Oh,  they  didn't  want  any  doctor"  exclaimed  the 
inspired  realist  promptly.  "They  don't  want  any 
body  to  hear  about  it  because  Uncle  John  might  re 
form — and  then  where'd  he  be  if  everybody  knew 
he'd  been  a  drunkard  and  whipped  his  wife  and  baby 
daughter?" 

"Oh!"  said  Miss  Spence. 

"You  see,  he  used  to  be  upright  as  anybody,"  he 
went  on  explanatively.  "It  all  begun " 

"Began,  Penrod." 

"Yes'm.  It  all  commenced  from  the  first  day 
he  let  those  travelling  men  coax  him  into  the  saloon." 
Penrod  narrated  the  downfall  of  his  Uncle  John  at 
length.  In  detail  he  was  nothing  short  of  plethoric ; 
and  incident  followed  incident,  sketched  with  such 
vividness,  such  abundance  of  colour,  and  such  veri 
similitude  to  a  drunkard's  life  as  a  drunkard's  life 


TO  PENROD 

should  be,  that  had  Miss  Spence  possessed  the  rather 
chilling  attributes  of  William  J.  Burns  himself,  the 
last  trace  of  skepticism  must  have  vanished  from  her 
mind.  Besides,  there  are  two  things  that  will  be 
believed  of  any  man  whatsoever,  and  one  of  them  is 
that  he  has  taken  to  drink.  And  in  every  sense  it 
was  a  moving  picture  which,  with  simple  but  eloquent 
words,  the  virtuous  Penrod  set  before  his  teacher. 

His  eloquence  increased  with  what  it  fed  on;  and 
as  with  the  eloquence  so  with  self-reproach  in  the 
gentle  bosom  of  the  teacher.  She  cleared  her  throat 
with  difficulty  once  or  twice,  during  his  description 
of  his  ministering  night  with  Aunt  Clara.  "And 
I  said  to  her,  'Why,  Aunt  Clara,  what's  the  use  of 
takin'  on  so  about  it?'  And  I  said,  'Now,  Aunt 
Clara,  all  the  crying  in  the  world  can't  make  things 
any  better.'  And  then  she'd  just  keep  catchin'  hold 
of  me,  and  sob  and  kind  of  holler,  and  I'd  say,  'Don't 
cry,  Aunt  Clara — please  don't  cry.'  " 

Then,  under  the  influence  of  some  fragmentary 
survivals  of  the  respectable  portion  of  his  Sunday 
adventures,  his  theme  became  more  exalted;  and, 
only  partially  misquoting  a  phrase  from  a  psalm,  he 
related  how  he  had  made  it  of  comfort  to  Aunt 
Clara,  and  how  he  had  besought  her  to  seek  Higher 
guidance  in  her  trouble. 

The  surprising  thing  about  a  structure  such  as 
Penrod  was  erecting  is  that  the  taller  it  becomes 
the  more  ornamentation  it  will  stand.  Gifted  boys 


UNCLE  JOHN  73 

fiave  this  faculty  of  building  magnificence  upon  cob 
webs — and  Penrod  was  gifted.  Under  the  spell  of 
his  really  great  performance,  Miss  Spence  gazed 
more  and  more  sweetly  upon  the  prodigy  of  spiritual 
beauty  and  goodness  before  her,  until  at  last,  when 
Penrod  came  to  the  explanation  of  his  "just  think 
ing,"  she  was  forced  to  turn  her  head  away. 

"You  mean,  dear,"  she  said  gently,  "that  you  were 
all  worn  out  and  hardly  knew  what  you  were  say 
ing?" 

"Yes'm." 

"And  you  were  thinking  about  all  those  dreadful 
things  so  hard  that  you  forgot  where  you  were?" 

"I  was  thinking,"  he  said  simply,  "how  to  save 
Uncle  John." 

And  the  end  of  it  for  this  mighty  boy  was  that  the 
teacher  kissed  him! 


CHAPTER  XI 


FIDELITY    OF    A    LITTLE    DOG 

THE  returning  students,  that  afternoon,,  ob 
served  that  Penrod's  desk  was  vacant — and 
nothing  could  have  been  more  impressive 
than  that  sinister  mere  emptiness.  The  accepted 
theory  was  that  Penrod  had  been  arrested.  How 
breathtaking,  then,  the  sensation  when,  at  the  begin 
ning  of  the  second  hour,  he  strolled  in  with  inimitable 
carelessness  and,  rubbing  his  eyes,  somewhat  notice 
ably  in  the  manner  of  one  who  has  snatched  an  hour 
of  much  needed  sleep,  took  his  place  as  if  nothing  in 
particular  had  happened.  This,  at  first  supposed 
to  be  a  superhuman  exhibition  of  sheer  audacity,  be- 

74 


FIDELITY  OF  A  LITTLE  DOG         75 

came  but  the  more  dumfounding  when  Miss  Spence 
— looking  up  from  her  desk — greeted  him  with  a 
pleasant  little  nod.  Even  after  school,  Penrod  gave 
numerous  maddened  investigators  no  relief.  All  he 
would  consent  to  say  was: 

"Oh,  I  just  talked  to  her." 

A  mystification  not  entirely  unconnected  with  the 
one  thus  produced  was  manifested  at  his  own  family 
dinner-table  the  following  evening.  Aunt  Clara  had 
been  out  rather  late,  and  came  to  the  table  after  the 
rest  were  seated.  She  wore  a  puzzled  expression. 

"Do  you  ever  see  Mary  Spence  nowadays?"  she 
inquired,  as  she  unfolded  her  napkin,  addressing 
Mrs.  Schofield.  Penrod  abruptly  set  down  his 
soup-spoon  and  gazed  at  his  aunt  with  flattering 
attention. 

"Yes;  sometimes,"  said  Mrs.  Schofield.  "She's 
Penrod's  teacher." 

"Is  she?"  said  Mrs.  Farry.  "Do  you—"  She 
paused.  "Do  people  think  her  a  little — queer,  these 
days?" 

"Why,  no,"  returned  her  sister.  "What  makes 
you  say  that?" 

"She  has  acquired  a  very  odd  manner,"  said  Mrs. 
Farry  decidedly.  "At  least,  she  seemed  odd  to  me. 
I  met  her  at  the  corner  just  before  I  got  to  the 
house,  a  few  minutes  ago,  and  after  we'd  said 
howdy-do  to  each  other,  she  kept  hold  of  my  hand 
and  looked  as  though  she  was  going  to  cry.  She 


76  PENROD 

seemed  to  be  trying  to  say  something,  and  chok 
ing " 

"But  I  don't  think  that's  so  very  queer,  Clara. 
She  knew  you  in  school,  didn't  she?" 

"Yes,  but " 

"And  she  hadn't  seen  you  for  so  many  years,  I 
think  it's  perfectly  natural  she " 

"Wait !  She  stood  there  squeezing  my  hand,  and 
struggling  to  get  her  voice — and  I  got  really  em 
barrassed — and  then  finally  she  said,  in  a  kind  of 
tearful  whisper,  'Be  of  good  cheer — this  trial  will 
pass!'" 

"How  queer!"  exclaimed  Margaret. 

Penrod  sighed,  and  returned  somewhat  absently 
to  his  soup. 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Schofield  thought 
fully.  "Of  course  she's  heard  about  the  outbreak 
of  measles  in  Dayton,  since  they  had  to  close  the 
schools,  and  she  knows  you  live  there " 

"But  doesn't  it  seem  a  very  exaggerated  way," 
suggested  Margaret,  "to  talk  about  measles?" 

"Wait!"  begged  Aunt  Clara.  "After  she  said 
that,  she  said  something  even  queerer,  and  then  put 
her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes  and  hurried  away." 

Penrod  laid  down  his  spoon  again  and  moved  his 
chair  slightly  back  from  the  table.  A  spirit  of 
prophecy  was  upon  him:  he  knew  that  someone  was 
going  to  ask  a  question  which  he  felt  might  better 
remain  unspoken. 


FIDELITY  OF  A  LITTLE  DOG         77 

"What  was  the  other  thing  she  said?"  Mr.  Scho- 
field  inquired,  thus  immediately  fulfilling  his  son's 
premonition. 

"She  said,"  returned  Mrs.  Farry  slowly,  looking 
about  the  table,  "she  said,  'I  know  that  Penrod  is 
a  great,  great  comfort  to  you !'  " 

There  was  a  general  exclamation  of  surprise.  It 
was  a  singular  thing,  and  in  no  manner  may  it  be 
considered  complimentary  to  Penrod,  that  this  speech 
of  Miss  Spence's  should  have  immediately  confirmed 
Mrs.  Farry's  doubts  about  her  in  the  minds  of  all  his 
family. 

Mr.  Schofield  shook  his  head  pityingly. 

"I'm  afraid  she's  a  goner,"  he  went  so  far  as  tc 
say. 

"Of  all  the  weird  ideas !"  cried  Margaret. 

"I  never  heard  anything  like  it  in  my  life !"  Mrs. 
Schofield  exclaimed.  "Was  that  all  she  said?" 

"Every  word!" 

Penrod  again  resumed  attention  to  his  soup.  His 
mother  looked  at  him  curiously,  and  then,  struck 
by  a  sudden  thought,  gathered  the  glances  of  the 
adults  of  the  table  by  a  significant  movement  of  the 
head,  and,  by  another,  conveyed  an  admonition  to 
drop  the  subject  until  later.  Miss  Spence  was  Pen- 
rod's  teacher:  it  was  better,  for  many  reasons,  not 
to  discuss  the  subject  of  her  queerness  before  him. 
This  was  Mrs.  Schofield's  thought  at  the  time. 
Later  she  had  another,  and  it  kept  her  awake. 


78  PENROD 

The  next  afternoon,  Mr.  Schofield,  returning  at 
five  o'clock  from  the  cares  of  the  day,  found  the  house 
deserted,  and  sat  down  to  read  his  evening  paper  in 
what  appeared  to  be  an  uninhabited  apartment 
known  to  its  own  world  as  the  "drawing-room."  A 
sneeze,  unexpected  both  to  him  and  the  owner,  in 
formed  him  of  the  presence  of  another  person. 

"Where  are  you,  Penrod?"  the  parent  asked, 
looking  about. 

"Here,"  said  Penrod  meekly. 

Stooping,  Mr.  Schofield  discovered  his  son  squat 
ting  under  the  piano,  near  an  open  window — his 
wistful  Duke  lying  beside  him. 

"What  are  you  doing  there?" 

"Me?" 

"Why  under  the  piano?" 

"Well,"  the  boy  returned,  with  grave  sweetness, 
"I  was  just  kind  of  sitting  here — thinking." 

"All  right."  Mr.  Schofield,  rather  touched,  re 
turned  to  the  digestion  of  a  murder,  his  back  once 
more  to  the  piano;  and  Penrod  silently  drew  from 
beneath  his  jacket  (where  he  had  slipped  it  simul 
taneously  with  the  sneeze)  a  paper-backed  volume 
entitled:  "Slimsy,  the  Sioux  City  Squealer,  or,  'Not 
Guilty,  Your  Honor.'  " 

In  this  manner  the  reading-club  continued  in 
peace,  absorbed,  contented,  the  world  well  forgot — 
until  a  sudden,  violently  irritated  slam-bang  of  the 


FIDELITY  OF  A  LITTLE  DOG         79 

front  door  startled  the  members ;  and  Mrs.  Schofield 
burst  into  the  room  and  threw  herself  into  a  chair, 
moaning. 

"What's  the  matter,  mamma?"  asked  her  hus 
band  laying  aside  his  paper. 

"Henry  Passloe  Schofield,"  returned  the  lady,  "I 
don't  know  what  is  to  be  done  with  that  boy;  I  do 
not!" 

"You  mean  Penrod?" 

"Who  else  could  I  mean?"  She  sat  up,  exasper 
ated,  to  stare  at  him.  "Henry  Passloe  Schofield, 
you've  got  to  take  this  matter  in  your  hands — it's 
beyond  me !" 

"Well,  what  has  he " 

"Last  night  I  got  to  thinking,"  she  began  rapidly, 
"about  what  Clara  told  us — thank  Heaven  she  and 
Margaret  and  little  Clara  have  gone  to  tea  at  Cousin 
Charlotte's ! — but  they'll  be  home  soon — about  what 
she  said  about  Miss  Spence " 

"You  mean  about  Penrod's  being  a  comfort?" 

"Yes,  and  I  kept  thinking  and  thinking  and  think 
ing  about  it  till  I  couldn't  stand  it  any " 

"By  George!"  shouted  Mr.  Schofield  startlingly, 
stooping  to  look  under  the  piano.  A  statement  that 
he  had  suddenly  remembered  his  son's  presence  would 
be  lacking  in  accuracy,  for  the  highly  sensitized 
Penrod  was,  in  fact,  no  longer  present.  No  more 
was  Duke,  his  faithful  dog. 


80  PENROD 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"Nothing,"  he  returned,  striding  to  the  open  win 
dow  and  looking  out.  "Go  on." 

"Oh,"  she  moaned,  "it  must  be  kept  from  Clara 
— and  I'll  never  hold  up  my  head  again  if  John 
Farry  ever  hears  of  it !" 

"Hears  of  what?" 

"Well,  I  just  couldn't  stand  it,  I  got  so  curious; 
and  I  thought  of  course  if  Miss  Spence  had  become  a 
little  unbalanced  it  was  my  duty  to  know  it,  as  Pen- 
rod's  mother  and  she  his  teacher;  so  I  thought  I 
would  just  call  on  her  at  her  apartment  after  school 
and  have  a  chat  and  see — and  I  did  and — oh ' 

"Well?" 

"I've  just  come  from  there,  and  she  told  me — 
«he  told  me!  Oh,  I've  never  known  anything  like 
this!" 

"What  did  she  tell  you?" 

Mrs.  Schofield,  making  a  great  effort,  managed  to 
assume  a  temporary  appearance  of  calm.  "Henry," 
she  said  solemnly,  "bear  this  in  mind:  whatever  you 
do  to  Penrod,  it  must  be  done  in  some  place  when 
Clara  won't  hear  it.  But  the  first  thing  to  do  is  to 
find  him." 

Within  view  of  the  window  from  which  Mr.  Scho 
field  was  gazing  was  the  closed  door  of  the  storeroom 
in  the  stable,  and  just  outside  this  door  Duke  was 
performing  a  most  engaging  trick. 

His  young  master  had  taught  Duke  to  "sit  up 


FIDELITY  OF  A  LITTLE  DOG         81 

and  beg"  when  he  wanted  anything,  and  if  that 
didn't  get  it,  to  "speak."  Duke  was  facing  the 
closed  door  and  sitting  up  and  begging,  and  now  he 
also  spoke — in  a  loud,  clear  bark. 

There  was  an  open  transom  over  the  door,  and 
from  this  descended — hurled  by  an  unseen  agency — 
a  can  half  filled  with  old  paint. 

It  caught  the  small  besieger  of  the  door  on  his 
thoroughly  surprised  right  ear,  encouraged  him  to 
some  remarkable  acrobatics,  and  turned  large  por 
tions  of  him  a  dull  blue.  Allowing  only  a  moment  to 
perplexity,  and  deciding,  after  a  single  and  evidently 
unappetizing  experiment,  not  to  cleanse  himself  of 
paint,  the  loyal  animal  resumed  his  quaint,  upright 
posture. 

Mr.  Schofield  seated  himself  on  the  window-sill, 
whence  he  could  keep  in  view  that  pathetic  picture 
of  unrequited  love. 

"Go  on  with  your  story,  mamma,"  he  said.  "J 
think  I  can  find  Penrod  when  we  want  him." 

And  a  few  minutes  later  he  added,  "And  I  think 
I  know  the  place  to  do  it  in." 

Again  the  faithful  voice  of  Duke  was  heard,  plead 
ing  outside  the  bolted  door. 


CHAPTER  XII 

MISS    RENNSDALE    ACCEPTS 

ONE-TWO-THREE ;  one-two-three—glide !" 
said  Professor  Bartet,  emphasizing  his  in 
structions  by  a  brisk  collision  of  his  palms 
at  "glide."     "One-two-three;  one-two-three — glide!" 
The  school  week  was  over,  at  last,  but  Penrod's 
troubles  were  not. 

Round  and  round  the  ballroom  went  the  seventeen 
struggling  little  couples  of  the  Friday  Afternoon 
Dancing  Class.  Round  and  round  went  their  re 
flections  with  them,  swimming  rhythmically  in  the 
polished,  dark  floor — white  and  blue  and  pink  for 
the  girls ;  black,  with  dabs  of  white,  for  the  white 


MISS  RENNSDALE  ACCEPTS  85 

collared,  white-gloved  boys;  and  sparks  and  slivers 
of  high  light  everywhere  as  the  glistening  pumps 
flickered  along  the  surface  like  a  school  of  flying  flsh. 
Every  small  pink  face — with  one  exception — was 
painstaking  and  set  for  duty.  It  was  a  conscientious 
little  merry-go-round. 

"One-two-three ;  one-two-three — glide !  One-two- 
three  ;  one-two-three — glide !  One-two-th — Ha ! 
Mister  Penrod  Schofield,  you  lose  the  step.  Your 
left  foot !  No,  no !  This  is  the  left !  See— like  me ! 
Now  again !  One-two-three ;  one-two-three — glide ! 
Better!  Much  better!  Again!  One-two-three;  one- 
two-three — gl — Stop!  Mr.  Penrod  Schofield,  this 
dancing  class  is  provided  by  the  kind  parents  of  the 
pupilses  as  much  to  learn  the  mannerss  of  good  soci 
eties  as  to  dance.  You  think  you  shall  ever  see  a 
gentleman  in  good  societies  to  tickle  his  partner  in 
the  dance  till  she  say  Ouch?  Never !  I  assure  you  it 
is  not  done.  Again!  Now  then!  Piano,  please! 
One-two-three;  one-two-three — glide!  Mr.  Penrod 
Schofield,  your  right  foot — your  right  foot !  No,  no  1 
Stop !" 

The  merry-go-round  came  to  a  standstill. 

"Mr.  Penrod  Schofield  and  partner" — Professor 
Bartet  wiped  his  brow — "will  you  kindly  observe  me? 
One-two-three — glide!  So!  Now  then — no;  you 
will  please  keep  your  places,  ladies  and  gentlemen. 
Mr.  Penrod  Schofield,  I  would  puttickly  like  your 
attention ;  this  is  for  you !" 


84  PENROD 

"Pickin'  on  me  again!"  murmured  the  smoulder 
ing  Penrod  to  his  small,  unsympathetic  partner. 
"Can't  let  me  alone  a  minute !" 

"Mister  Georgie  Bassett,  please  step  to  the 
centre,"  said  the  professor. 

Mr.  Bassett  complied  with  modest  alacrity. 

"Teacher's  pet !"  whispered  Penrod  hoarsely.  He 
had  nothing  but  contempt  for  Georgie  Bassett.  The 
parents,  guardians,  aunts,  uncles,  cousins,  govern 
esses,  housemaids,  cooks,  chauffeurs  and  coachmen, 
appertaining  to  the  members  of  the  dancing  class, 
all  dwelt  in  the  same  part  of  town  and  shared  certain 
communal  theories ;  and  among  the  most  firmly  estab 
lished  was  that  which  maintained  Georgie  Bassett 
to  be  the  Best  Boy  in  Town.  Contrariwise,  the  un 
fortunate  Penrod,  largely  because  of  his  recent 
dazzling  but  disastrous  attempts  to  control  forces  far 
beyond  him,  had  been  given  a  clear  title  as  the  Worst 
Boy  in  Town.  (Population,  135,000.)  To  precisely 
what  degree  his  reputation  was  the  product  of  his 
own  energies  cannot  be  calculated.  It  was  Marjorie 
Jones  who  first  applied  the  description,  in  its  definite 
simplicity,  the  day  after  the  "pageant,"  and,  pos 
sibly,  her  frequent  and  effusive  repetitions  of  it,  even 
upon  wholly  irrelevant  occasions,  had  something  to 
do  with  its  prompt  and  quite  perfect  acceptance  by 
the  community. 

"Miss  Rennsdale  will  please  do  me  the  fafer  to  be 
Mr.  Georgie  Bassett's  partner  for  one  moment,"  said 


MISS  RENNSDALE  ACCEPTS          85. 

Professor  Bartet.  "Mr.  Penrod  Schofield  will  please 
give  his  attention.  Miss  Rennsdale  and  Mister  Bas- 
sett,  obliche  me,  if  you  please.  Others  please  watch. 
Piano,  please!  Now  then!" 

Miss  Rennsdale,  aged  eight — the  youngest  lady 
in  the  class — and  Mr.  Georgie  Bassett  one-two-three- 
glided  with  consummate  technique  for  the  better  edu 
cation  of  Penrod  Schofield.  It  is  possible  that 
amber-curled,  beautiful  Marjorie  felt  that  she, 
rather  than  Miss  Rennsdale,  might  have  been  selected 
as  the  example  of  perfection — or  perhaps  her  remark 
was  only  woman. 

"Stopping  everybody  for  that  boy!"  said  Mar 
jorie. 

Penrod,  across  the  circle  from  her,  heard  distinctly 
— nay,  he  was  obviously  intended  to  hear;  but  over 
a  scorched  heart  he  preserved  a  stoic  front.  Where 
upon  Marjorie  whispered  derisively  in  the  ear  of  her 
partner,  Maurice  Levy,  who  wore  a  pearl  pin  in  his 
tie. 

"Again,  please,  everybody — ladies  and  gentle 
men!"  cried  Professor  Bartet.  "Mister  Penrod 
Schofield,  if  you  please,  pay  puttickly  attention! 
Piano,  please!  Now  then!" 

The  lesson  proceeded.  At  the  close  of  the  houl 
Professor  Bartet  stepped  to  the  centre  of  the  room 
and  clapped  his  hands  for  attention. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,  if  you  please  to  seat  your 
selves  quietly,"  he  said;  "I  speak  to  you  now  about 


86  PENROD 

to-morrow.  As  you  all  know — Mister  Penrod  Sctu> 
field,  I  am  not  sticking  up  in  a  tree  outside  that  win^ 
dow!  If  you  do  me  the  fafer  to  examine  I  am  here, 
insides  of  the  room.  Now  then!  Piano,  pi — no,  I 
do  not  wish  the  piano !  As  you  all  know,  this  is  the 
last  lesson  of  the  season  until  next  October.  To- 
morrow  is  our  special  afternoon;  beginning  three 
o'clock,  we  dance  the  cotillon.  But  this  afternoon 
comes  the  test  of  mannerss.  You  must  see  if  each 
know  how  to  make  a  little  formal  call  like  a  grown-up 
people  in  good  societies.  You  have  had  good,  per 
fect  instruction ;  let  us  see  if  we  know  how  to  perform 
like  societies  ladies  and  gentlemen  twenty-six  years 
of  age. 

"Now,  when  you're  dismissed  each  lady  will  go  to 
her  home  and  prepare  to  receive  a  call.  The  gentle 
men  will  allow  the  ladies  time  to  reach  their  houses 
and  to  prepare  to  receive  callers;  then  each  gentle 
man  will  call  upon  a  lady  and  beg  the  pleasure  to 
engage  her  for  a  partner  in  the  cotillon  to-morrow. 
You  all  know  the  correct,  proper  form  for  these  calls, 
because  didn't  I  work  teaching  you  last  lesson  till  I 
thought  I  would  drop  dead?  Yes !  Now  each  gentle 
man,  if  he  reach  a  lady's  house  behind  some-other 
gentleman,  then  he  must  go  somewhere  else  to  a  lady's 
house,  and  keep  calling  until  he  secures  a  partner; 
so,  as  there  are  the  same  number  of  both,  everybody 
shall  have  a  partner. 

"Now  please  all  remember  that  if  in  case — Mister 


MISS  RENNSDALE  ACCEPTS          87 

Penrod  Schofield,  when  you  make  your  call  on  a  lady 
I  beg  you  to  please  remember  that  gentlemen  in  good 
societies  do  not  scratch  the  back  in  societies  as  you 
appear  to  attempt ;  so  please  allow  the  hands  to  rest 
carelessly  in  the  lap.  Now  please  all  remember  that 
if  in  case — Mister  Penrod  Schofield,  if  you  please! 
Gentlemen  in  societies  do  not  scratch  the  back  by 
causing  frictions  between  it  and  the  back  of  your 
chair,  either !  Nobody  else  is  itching  here !  /  do  not 
itch !  I  cannot  talk  if  you  must  itch !  In  the  name  of 
Heaven,  why  must  you  always  itch?  What  was  I 
saying  ?  Where — ah !  the  cotillon — yes !  For  the 
cotillon  it  is  important  nobody  shall  fail  to  be  here  to-* 
morrow ;  but  if  any  one  should  be  so  very  ill  he  cannot 
possible  come  he  mast  write  a  very  polite  note  of 
regrets  in  the  form  of  good  societies  to  his  engaged 
partner  to  excuse  himself — and  he  must  give  the 
reason. 

"I  do  not  think  anybody  is  going  to  be  that  sick 
to-morrow — no;  and  I  will  find  out  and  report  to 
parents  if  anybody  would  try  it  and  not  be.  But  it 
is  important  for  the  cotillon  that  we  have  an  even 
number  of  so  many  couples,  and  if  it  should  happen 
that  someone  comes  and  her  partner  has  sent  her  a 
polite  note  that  he  has  genuine  reasons  why  he  can 
not  come,  the  note  must  be  handed  at  once  to  me,  so 
'that  I  arrange  some  other  partner.  Is  all  under 
stood?  Yes.  The  gentlemen  will  remember  now  to 
allow  the  ladies  plenty  of  time  to  reach  their  houses 


88  PENROD 

and  prepare  to  receive  calls.  Ladies  and  gentlemen, 
I  thank  you  for  your  polite  attention." 

It  was  nine  blocks  to  the  house  of  Marjorie  Jones ; 
but  Penrod  did  it  in  less  than  seven  minutes  from  a 
flying  start — such  was  his  hastr  to  lay  himself  and 
his  hand  for  the  cotillon  at  the  ieet  of  one  who  had 
so  recently  spoken  unamiably  of  him  in  public.  He 
had  not  yet  learned  that  the  only  safe  male  rebuke 
to  a  scornful  female  is  to  stay  away  from  her — 
especially  if  that  is  what  she  desires.  However,  he 
did  not  wish  to  rebuke  her ;  simply  and  ardently  he 
wished  to  dance  the  cotillon  with  her.  Resentment 
was  swallowed  up  in  hope. 

The  fact  that  Miss  Jones'  feeling  for  him  bore  a 
striking  resemblance  to  that  of  Simon  Legree  for 
Uncle  Tom,  deterred  him  not  at  all.  Naturally,  he 
was  not  wholly  unconscious  that  when  he  should  lay 
his  hand  for  the  cotillon  at  her  feet  it  would  be  her 
inward  desire  to  step  on  it;  but  he  believed  that  if 
he  were  first  in  the  field  Marjorie  would  have  to 
accept.  These  things  are  governed  by  law. 

It  was  his  fond  intention  to  reach  her  house  even 
in  advance  of  herself,  and  with  grave  misgiving  he 
beheld  a  large  automobile  at  rest  before  the  sainted 
gate.  Forthwith,  a  sinking  feeling  became  a  portent 
inside  him  as  little  Maurice  Levy  emerged  from  the 
front  door  of  the  house. 

"  'Lo,  Penrod !"  said  Maurice  airily. 

"What  you  doin'  in  there?"  inquired  Penrod. 


MISS  RENNSDALE  ACCEPTS          89 

"In  where?" 

"In  Marjorie's." 

"Well,  what  shouldn't  I  be  doin'  in  Marjorie's?" 
Mr.  Levy  returned  indignantly.  "I  was  inviting 
her  for  my  partner  in  the  cotillon — what  you 
s'pose?" 

"You  haven't  got  any  right  to !"  Penrod  protested 
hotly.  "You  can't  do  it  yet." 

"I  did  do  it  yet !"  said  Maurice. 

"You  can't !"  insisted  Penrod.  "You  got  to  allow 
them  time  first.  He  said  the  ladies  had  to  be  allowed 
time  to  prepare." 

"Well,  ain't  she  had  time  to  prepare?" 

"When?"  Penrod  demanded,  stepping  close  to  his 
rival  threateningly.  "I'd  like  to  know  when ' 

"When?"  echoed  the  other  with  shrill  triumph 
"When?  Why,  in  mamma's  sixty -horse  powder 
limousine  automobile,  what  Marjorie  came  home  with 
me  in !  I  guess  that's  when !" 

An  impulse  in  the  direction  of  violence  became 
visible  upon  the  countenance  of  Penrod. 

"I  expect  you  need  some  wiping  down,"  he  be 
gan  dangerously.  "I'll  give  you  sumpthing  to  re- 
mem " 

"Oh,  you  will!"  Maurice  cried  with  astonishing 
truculence,  contorting  himself  into  what  he  may 
have  considered  a  posture  of  defense.  "Let's  see 
you  try  it,  you — you  itcher !" 

For  the  moment,  defiance  from  such  a  source  was 


90  PENROD 

dumfounding.  Then,  luckily,  Penrod  recollected 
something  and  glanced  at  the  automobile. 

Perceiving  therein  not  only  the  alert  chauffeur 
but  the  magnificent  outlines  of  Mrs.  Levy,  his  en 
emy's  mother,  he  manoeuvred  his  lifted  hand  so  that 
it  seemed  he  had  but  meant  to  scratch  his  ear. 

"Well,  I  guess  I  better  be  goin',"  he  said  casually. 
"See  you  t'-morrow!" 

Maurice  mounted  to  the  lap  of  luxury,  and  Penrod 
strolled  away  with  an  assumption  of  careless  ease 
which  was  put  to  a  severe  strain  when,  from  the  rear 
window  of  the  car,  a  sudden  protuberance  in  the  na 
ture  of  a  small,  dark,  curly  head  shrieked  scornfully : 

"Go  on — you  big  stiff!" 

The  cotillon  loomed  dismally  before  Penrod  now; 
but  it  was  his  duty  to  secure  a  partner  and  he  set 
about  it  with  a  dreary  heart.  The  delay  occasioned 
by  his  fruitless  attempt  on  Marjorie  and  the  alter 
cation  with  his  enemy  at  her  gate  had  allowed  other 
ladies  ample  time  to  prepare  for  callers — and  to  re 
ceive  them.  Sadly  he  went  from  house  to  house, 
finding  that  he  had  been  preceded  in  one  after  the 
other.  Altogether  his  hand  for  the  cotillon  was  de 
clined  eleven  times  that  afternoon  on  the  legitimate 
ground  of  previous  engagement.  This,  with  Mar 
jorie,  scored  off  all  except  five  of  the  seventeen  pos 
sible  partners;  and  four  of  the  five  were  also  sealed 
away  from  him,  as  he  learned  in  chance  encounters 
with  other  boys  upon  the  street. 


MISS  RENNSDALE  ACCEPTS          91 

One  lady  alone  remained;  he  bowed  to  the  inevi 
table  and  entered  this  lorn  damsel's  gate  at  twilight 
with  an  air  of  great  discouragement.  The  lorn  dam 
sel  was  Miss  Rennsdale,  aged  eight. 

We  are  apt  to  forget  that  there  are  actually  times 
of  life  when  too  much  youth  is  a  handicap.  Miss 
Rennsdale  was  beautiful;  she  danced  like  a  pre 
miere;  she  had  every  charm  but  age.  On  that  ac 
count  alone  had  she  been  allowed  so  much  time  to 
prepare  to  receive  callers  that  it  was  only  by  the  most 
manful  efforts  she  could  keep  her  lip  from  trembling. 

A  decorous  maid  conducted  the  long-belated  ap 
plicant  to  her  where  she  sat  upon  a  sofa  beside  a 
nursery  governess.  The  decorous  maid  announced 
him  composedly  as  he  made  his  entrance. 

"Mr.  Penrod  Schofield!" 

Miss  Rennsdale  suddenly  burst  into  loud  sobs. 

"Oh !"  she  wailed.    "I  just  knew  it  would  be  him !" 

The  decorous  maid's  composure  vanished  at  once 
— likewise  her  decorum.  She  clapped  her  hand  over 
her  mouth  and  fled,  uttering  sounds.  The  govern 
ess,  however,  set  herself  to  comfort  her  heartbroken 
charge,  and  presently  succeeded  in  restoring  Miss 
Rennsdale  to  a  semblance  of  that  poise  with  which  a 
lady  receives  callers  and  accepts  invitations  to  dance 
cotillons.  But  she  continued  to  sob  at  intervals. 

Feeling  himself  at  perhaps  a  disadvantage,  Penrod 
toade  offer  of  his  hand  for  the  morrow  with  a  little 
Embarrassment.  Following  the  form  prescribed  bj 


92  PENROD 

Professor  Bartet,  he  advanced  several  paces  toward 
the  stricken  lady  and  bowed  formally. 

"I  hope,"  he  said  by  rote,  "you're  well,  and  your 
parents  also  in  good  health.  May  I  have  the  pleas 
ure  of  dancing  the  cotillon  as  your  partner  t'-mor- 
row  afternoon?" 

The  wet  eyes  of  Miss  Rennsdale  searched  his 
countenance  without  pleasure,  and  a  shudder  wrung 
her  small  shoulders;  but  the  governess  whispered  to 
her  instructively,  and  she  made  a  great  effort. 

"I  thu-thank  you  fu-for  your  polite  invu-invu- 

invutation ;  and  I  ac "  Thus  far  she  progressed 

when  emotion  overcame  her  again.  She  beat  fran 
tically  upon  the  sofa  with  fists  and  heels.  "Oh,  x 
did  want  it  to  be  Georgie  Bassett!" 

"No,  no,  no!"  said  the  governess,  and  whisperer1 
urgently,  whereupon  Miss  Rennsdale  was  able  to 
complete  her  acceptance. 

"And  I  ac-accept  wu-with  pu-pleasure !"  she 
moaned,  and  immediately,  uttering  a  loud  yell,  flung 
herself  face  downward  upon  the  sofa,  clutching  her 
governess  convulsively. 

Somewhat  disconcerted,  Penrod  bowed  again. 

"I  thank  you  for  your  polite  acceptance,"  he 
murmured  hurriedly ;  "and  I  trust — I  trust — I  for 
get.  Oh,  yes — I  trust  we  shall  have  a  most  enjoyable 
occasion.  Pray  present  my  compliments  to  your 
parents ;  and  I  must  now  wish  you  a  very  good  after 
noon.* 


Following  the  form  prescribed  by  Professor  Bartet,  he 
advanced  several  paces  toward  the  stricken  lady,  and  bowed 
formally 


94  PENROD 

Concluding  these  courtly  demonstrations  with  an 
other  bow  he  withdrew  in  fair  order,  though  thrown 
into  partial  confusion  in  the  hall  by  a  final  wail  from 
his  crushed  hostess: 

"Oh!  Why  couldn't  it  be  anybody  but  him!" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE    SMALLPOX    MEDICINE 

NEXT  morning  Penrod  woke  in  profound 
depression  of  spirit,  the  cotillon  ominous 
before  him.     He  pictured  Marjorie  Jones 
and  Maurice,  graceful  and  light-hearted,  flitting  by 
him  fairylike,  loosing  silvery  laughter  upon  him  as 
he  engaged  in  the  struggle  to  keep  step  with  a  part 
ner  about  four  years  and  two  feet  his  junior.    It  was 
hard  enough  for  Penrod  to  keep  step  with  a  girl  of 
his  size. 

The  foreboding  vision  remained  with  him,  increas 
ing  in  vividness,  throughout  the  forenoon.  He  found 
himself  unable  to  fix  his  mind  upon  anything  else, 
and,  having  bent  his  gloomy  footsteps  toward  the 


96  PENROD 

sawdust-box,  after  breakfast,  presently  descended 
therefrom,  abandoning  Harold  Ramorez  where  he 
had  left  him  the  preceding  Saturday.  Then,  as  he 
sat  communing  silently  with  wistful  Duke,  in  the 
storeroom,  coquettish  fortune  looked  his  way. 

It  was  the  habit  of  Penrod's  mother  not  to  throw 
away  anything  whatsoever  until  years  of  storage 
conclusively  proved  there  would  never  be  a  use  for 
it ;  but  a  recent  house-cleaning  had  e j  ected  upon  the 
back  porch  a  great  quantity  of  bottles  and  other 
paraphernalia  of  medicine,  left  over  from  illnesses 
in  the  family  during  a  period  of  several  years.  This 
debris  Delia,  the  cook,  had  collected  in  a  large  market 
basket,  adding  to  it  some  bottles  of  flavouring  ex 
tracts  that  had  proved  unpopular  in  the  household; 
also,  old  catsup  bottles;  a  jar  or  two  of  preserves 
gone  bad ;  various  re  j  ected  dental  liquids — and  other 
things.  And  she  carried  the  basket  out  to  the  store 
room  in  the  stable. 

Penrod  was  at  first  unaware  of  what  lay  before 
him.  Chin  on  palms,  he  sat  upon  the  iron  rim  of  a 
former  aquarium  and  stared  morbidly  through  the 
open  door  at  the  checkered  departing  back  of  Delia. 
It  was  another  who  saw  treasure  in  the  basket  she 
had  left. 

Mr.  Samuel  Williams,  aged  eleven,  and  congenial 
to  Penrod  in  years,  sex,  and  disposition,  appeared  in 
the  doorway,  shaking  into  foam  a  black  liquid  within 
a  pint  bottle,  stoppered  by  a  thumbc 


THE  SMALLPOX  MEDICINE  97 

"Yay,  Penrod!"  the  visitor  gave  greeting. 

"Yay,"  said  Penrod  with  slight  enthusiasm. 
"What  you  got?" 

"Lickrish  water." 

"Drinkin's !"  demanded  Penrod  promptly.  This 
is  equivalent  to  the  cry  of  "Biters"  when  an  apple 
is  shown,  and  establishes  unquestionable  title. 

"Down  to  there!"  stipulated  Sam,  removing  his 
thumb  to  affix  it  firmly  as  a  mark  upon  the  side  of 
the  bottle — a  check  upon  gormandizing  that  re 
mained  carefully  in  place  while  Penrod  drank.  This 
rite  concluded,  the  visitor's  eye  fell  upon  the  basket 
deposited  by  Delia.  He  emitted  tokens  of  pleasure. 

"Looky!  Looky!  Looky  there!  That  ain't  any 
good  pile  o'  stuff — oh,  no !" 

"What  for?" 

"Drug  store!"  shouted  Sam.  "We'll  be  part 
ners " 

"Or  else,"  Penrod  suggested,  "I'll  run  the  drug 
store  and  you  be  a  customer " 

"No !  Partners !"  insisted  Sam  with  such  convic 
tion  that  his  host  yielded;  and  within  ten  minutes 
the  drug  store  was  doing  a  heavy  business  with  im 
aginary  patrons.  Improvising  counters  with  boards 
and  boxes,  and  setting  forth  a  very  druggish-looking 
stock  from  the  basket,  each  of  the  partners  found 
occupation  to  his  taste — Penrod  as  salesman  and 
Sam  as  prescription  clerk. 

"Here   yon   are,   madam!"   said   Penrod  briskly, 


98  PENROD 

offering  a  vial  of  Sam's  mixing  to  an  invisible  matron. 
"This  will  cure  your  husband  in  a  few  minutes. 
Here's  the  camphor,  mister.  Call  again!  Fifty 
cents'  worth  of  pills  ?  Yes,  madam.  There  you  are ! 
Hurry  up  with  that  dose  for  the  nigger  lady,  Bill!" 

"I'll  'tend  to  it  soon's  I  get  time,  Jim,"  replied  the 
prescription  clerk.  "I'm  busy  fixin'  the  smallpox 
medicine  for  the  sick  policeman  downtown." 

Penrod  stopped  sales  to  watch  this  operation. 
Sam  had  found  an  empty  pint  bottle  and,  with  the 
pursed  lips  and  measuring  eye  of  a  great  chemist,  was 
engaged  in  filling  it  from  other  bottles.  First,  he 
poured  into  it  some  of  the  syrup  from  the  condemned 
preserves ;  and  a  quantity  of  extinct  hair  oil ;  next  the 
remaining  contents  of  a  dozen  small  vials  cryptically 
labelled  with  physicians'  prescriptions;  then  some 
remnants  of  catsup  and  essence  of  beef  and  what 
was  left  in  several  bottles  of  mouthwash;  after  that 
a  quantity  of  rejected  flavouring  extract — topping 
off  by  shaking  into  the  mouth  of  the  bottle  various 
powders  from  small  pink  papers,  relics  of  Mr.  Scho- 
field's  influenza  of  the  preceding  winter. 

Sam  examined  the  combination  with  concern,  ap 
pearing  unsatisfied.  "We  got  to  make  that  small 
pox  medicine  good  and  strong!"  he  remarked;  and, 
his  artistic  sense  growing  more  powerful  than  his  ap 
petite,  he  poured  about  a  quarter  of  the  licorice  water 
into  the  smallpox  medicine. 

"What  you  doin'  ?"  protested  Penrod.    "What  you 


Penrod  stopped  sales  to  watch  this  operation 


100  PENROD 

want  to  waste  that  lickrish  water  for?  We  ought 
to  keep  it  to  drink  when  we're  tired." 

"I  guess  I  got  a  right  to  use  my  own  lickrish  water 
any  way  I  want  to./'  replied  the  prescription  clerk. 
"I  tell  you,  you  can't  get  smallpox  medicine  too 
strong.  Look  at  her  now!"  He  held  the  bottle  up 
admiringly.  "She's  as  black  as  lickrish.  I  bet  you 
she's  strong  all  right!" 

"I  wonder  how  she  tastes?"  said  Penrod  thought 
fully. 

"Don't  smell  so  awful  much,"  observed  Sam, 
sniffing  the  bottle — "a  good  deal,  though!" 

"I  wonder  if  it'd  make  us  sick  to  drink  it?"  said 
Penrod. 

Sam  looked  at  the  bottle  thoughtfully;  then  his 
eye,  wandering,  fell  upon  Duke,  placidly  curled  up 
near  the  door,  and  lighted  with  the  advent  of  an 
idea  new  to  him,  but  old,  old  in  the  world — older 
than  Egypt! 

"Let's  give  Duke  some !"  he  cried. 

That  was  the  spark.  They  acted  immediately; 
and  a  minute  later  Duke,  released  from  custody  with 
a  competent  potion  of  the  smallpox  medicine  inside 
him,  settled  conclusively  their  doubts  concerning  its 
effect.  The  patient  animal,  accustomed  to  expect 
the  worst  at  all  times,  walked  out  of  the  door,  shaking 
his  head  with  an  air  of  considerable  annoyance,  open 
ing  and  closing  his  mouth  with  singular  energy — and 
so  repeatedly  that  they  began  to  count  the  number 


THE  SMALLPOX  MEDICINE         101 

of  times  he  did  it.  Sam  thought  it  was  thirty-nine 
times,  but  Penrod  had  counted  forty-one  before  other 
and  more  striking  symptoms  appeared. 

All  things  come  from  Mother  Earth  and  must  re 
turn — Duke  restored  much  at  this  time.  Afterward, 
he  ate  heartily  of  grass ;  and  then,  over  his  shoulder, 
he  bent  upon  his  master  one  inscrutable  look  and 
departed  feebly  to  the  front  yard. 

The  two  boys  had  watched  the  process  with  warm 
interest.  "I  told  you  she  was  strong!"  said  Mr. 
Williams  proudly. 

"Yes,  sir — she  is!"  Penrod  was  generous  enough 

to  admit.  "I  expect  she's  strong  enough "  He 

paused  in  thought,  and  added:  "We  haven't  got  a 
horse  any  more." 

"I  bet  you  she'd  fix  him  if  you  had!"  said  Sarn. 
And  it  may  be  that  this  was  no  idle  boast. 

The  pharmaceutical  game  was  not  resumed;  the 
experiment  upon  Duke  had  made  the  drug  store 
commonplace  and  stimulated  the  appetite  for 
stronger  meat.  Lounging  in  the  doorway,  the  near- 
vivisectionists  sipped  licorice  water  alternately  and 
conversed. 

"I  bet  some  of  our  smallpox  medicine  would  fix  ole 
P'fessor  Bartet  all  right!"  quoth  Penrod.  "I  wish 
he'd  come  along  and  ask  us  for  some." 

"We  could  tell  him  it  was  lickrish  water,"  added 
Sam,  liking  the  idea.  "The  two  bottles  look  almost 
the  same." 


102  PENROD 

"Then  we  wouldn't  have  to  go  to  his  ole  cotillon 
this  afternoon,"  Penrod  sighed.  "There  wouldn't 
be  any!" 

"Who's  your  partner.  Pen?" 

"Who's  yours?" 

"Who's  yours?     I  just  ast  you." 

"Oh,  she's  all  right!"  And  Penrod  smiled  boast 
fully. 

"I  bet  you  wanted  to  dance  with  Marjorie!"  said 
his  friend. 

"Me?  I  wouldn't  dance  with  that  girl  if  she 
begged  me  to!  I  wouldn't  dance  with  her  to  save 
her  from  drowning!  I  wouldn't  da " 

"Oh,  no — you  wouldn't!"  interrupted  Mr.  Wil 
liams  skeptically. 

Penrod  changed  his  tone  and  became  persuasive. 

"Looky  here,  Sam,"  he  said  confidentially.  "I've 
got  a  mighty  nice  partner,  but  my  mother  don't  like 
her  mother;  and  so  I've  been  thinking  I  better  not 
dance  with  her.  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do ;  I've  got 
a  mighty  good  sling  in  the  house,  and  I'll  give  it  to 
you  if  you'll  change  partners." 

"You  want  to  change  and  you  don't  even  know 
who  mine  is!"  said  Sam,  and  he  made  the  simple 
though  precocious  deduction:  "Yours  must  be  a 
lala!  Well,  I  invited  Mabel  Rorebeck,  and  she 
wouldn't  let  me  change  if  I  wanted  to.  Mabel  Rore- 
beck'd  rather  dance  with  me,"  he  continued  serenely, 
"than  anybody;  and  she  said  she  was  awful  afraid 


THE  SMALLPOX  MEDICINE         103 

you'd  ast  her.  But  I  ain't  goin'  to  dance  with  Mabel 
after  all,  because  this  morning  she  sent  me  a  note 
about  her  uncle  died  last  night — and  P'fessor  Bar- 
tet'll  have  to  find  me  a  partner  after  I  get  there. 
Anyway  I  bet  you  haven't  got  any  sling — and  I  bet 
your  partner's  Baby  Rennsdale !" 

"What  if  she  is?"  said  Penrod.  "She's  good 
enough  for  me!"  This  speech  held  not  so  much 
modesty  in  solution  as  intended  praise  of  the  lady. 
Taken  literally,  however,  it  was  an  understatement 
of  the  facts  and  wholly  insincere. 

"Yay!"  jeered  Mr.  Williams,  upon  whom  his 
friend's  hypocrisy  was  quite  wasted.  "How  can 
your  mother  not  like  her  mother?  Baby  Rennsdale 
hasn't  got  any  mother !  You  and  her'll  be  a  sight !" 

That  was  Penrod's  own  conviction ;  and  with  this 
corroboration  of  it  he  grew  so  spiritless  that  he  could 
offer  no  retort.  He  slid  to  a  despondent  sitting  pos 
ture  upon  the  door  sill  and  gazed  wretchedly  upon 
the  ground,  while  his  companion  went  to  replenish 
the  licorice  water  at  the  hydrant — enfeebling  the 
potency  of  the  liquor  no  doubt,  but  making  up  for 
that  in  quantity. 

"Your  mother  goin'  with  you  to  the  cotillon?" 
asked  Sam  when  he  returned. 

"No.  She's  goin'  to  meet  me  there.  She's  goin' 
somewhere  first." 

"So's  mine,"  said  Sam.     "I'll  come  by  for  you." 

"All  right." 


104  PENROD 

"I  better  go  before  long.  Noon  whistles  been 
blowinV 

"All  right,"  Penrod  repeated  dully. 

Sam  turned  to  go,  but  paused.  A  new  straw  hat 
was  peregrinating  along  the  fence  near  the  two  boys. 
This  hat  belonged  to  someone  passing  upon  the 
sidewalk  of  the  cross-street;  and  the  someone  was 
Maurice  Levy.  Even  as  they  stared,  he  halted  and 
regarded  them  over  the  fence  with  two  small,  dark 
eyes. 

Fate  had  brought  about  this  moment  and  this 
confrontation. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

MAURICE    LEVY'S    CONSTITUTION 

"¥  O,  SAM !"  said  Maurice  cautiously.    "What  you 
1  doin'?" 

*  -*  Penrod  at  that  instant  had  a  singular  ex 
perience — an  intellectual  shock  like  a  flash  of  fire  in 
the  brain.  Sitting  in  darkness,  a  great  light  flooded 
him  with  wild  brilliance.  He  gasped! 

"What  you  doin'?9'  repeated  Mr.  Levy. 

Penrod  sprang  to  his  feet,  seized  the  licorice  bottle, 
shook  it  with  stoppering  thumb,  and  took  a  long 
drink  with  histrionic  unction. 

"What  you  doin'?"  asked  Maurice  for  the  third 
time,  Sam  Williams  not  having  decided  upon  a  reply. 

105 


10£  PENROD 

It  was  Penrod  who  answered. 

"Drinkin'  lickrish  water,"  he  said  simply,  and 
wiped  his  mouth  with  such  delicious  enjoyment  that 
Sam's  jaded  thirst  was  instantly  stimulated.  He 
took  the  bottle  eagerly  from  Penrod. 

"A-a-h!"  exclaimed  Penrod,  smacking  his  lips. 
"That  was  a  good  un!" 

The  eyes  above  the  fence  glistened. 

"Ask  him  if  he  don't  want  some,"  Penrod  whis 
pered  urgently.  "Quit  drinkin'  it!  It's  no  good 
any  more.  Ask  him!" 

"What  for?"  demanded  the  practical  Sam. 

"Go  on  and  ask  him!"  whispered  Penrod  fiercely. 

"Say,  M'rice!"  Sam  called,  waving  the  bottle, 
"Want  some?" 

"Bring  it  here!"  Mr.  Levy  requested. 

"Come  on  over  and  get  some,"  returned  Sam, 
being  prompted. 

"I  can't.     Penrod  Schofield's  after  me." 

"No,  I'm  not,"  said  Penrod  reassuringly.  "I 
won't  touch  you,  M'rice.  I  made  up  with  you  yes 
terday  afternoon — don't  you  remember?  You're  all 
right  with  me,  M'rice." 

Maurice  looked  undecided.  But  Penrod  had  the 
delectable  bottle  again,  and  tilting  it  above  his  lips, 
affected  to  let  the  cool  liquid  purl  enrichingly  into 
him,  while  with  his  right  hand  he  stroked  his  mid 
dle  fa$ade  ineffably.  Maurice's  mouth  watered. 


MAURICE  LEVY'S  CONSTITUTION     107 

"Here!"  cried  Sam,  stirred  again  by  the  superb 
manifestations  of  his  friend.  "Gimme  that !" 

Penrod  brought  the  bottle  down,  surprisingly  full 
after  so  much  gusto,  but  withheld  it  from  Sam ;  and 
the  two  scuffled  for  its  possession.  Nothing  in  the 
world  could  have  so  worked  upon  the  desire  of  the 
yearning  observer  beyond  the  fence. 

"Honest,  Penrod — you  ain't  goin'  to  touch  me  if 
I  come  in  your  yard?"  he  called.  "Honest?" 

"Cross  my  heart!"  answered  Penrod,  holding  the 
bottle  away  from  Sam.  "And  we'll  let  you  drink 
all  you  want." 

Maurice  hastily  climbed  the  fence,  and  while  he 
was  thus  occupied  Mr.  Samuel  Williams  received  a 
great  enlightenment.  With  startling  rapidity  Pen- 
rod,  standing  just  outside  the  storeroom  door,  ex 
tended  his  arm  within  the  room,  deposited  the  licorice 
water  upon  the  counter  of  the  drug  store,  seized  in 
its  stead  the  bottle  of  smallpox  medicine,  and  ex 
tended  it  cordially  toward  the  advancing  Maurice. 

Genius  is  like  that — great,  simple,  broad  strokes! 

Dazzled,  Mr.  Samuel  Williams  leaned  against  the 
wall.  He  had  the  sensations  of  one  who  comes  sud 
denly  into  the  presence  of  a  chef-d'oeuvre.  Perhaps 
his  first  coherent  thought  was  that  almost  universal 
one  on  such  huge  occasions:  "Why  couldn't  /  have 
done  that!" 

Sam  might  have  been  even  more  dazzled  had  he 


108  PENROD 

guessed  that  he  figured  not  altogether  as  a  spectator 
in  the  sweeping  and  magnificent  conception  of  the 
new  Talleyrand.  Sam  had  no  partner  for  the  co 
tillon.  If  Maurice  was  to  be  absent  from  that  fes 
tivity — as  it  began  to  seem  he  might  be — Penrod 
needed  a  male  friend  to  take  care  of  Miss  Rennsdale  ; 
and  he  believed  he  saw  his  way  to  compel  Mr.  Wil* 
liams  to  be  that  male  friend.  For  this  he  relied 
largely  upon  the  prospective  conduct  of  Miss  Renns 
dale  when  he  should  get  the  matter  before  her — he 
was  inclined  to  believe  she  would  favour  the  exchange. 
As  for  Talleyrand  Penrod  himself,  he  was  going  to 
dance  that  cotillon  with  Marjorie  Jones! 

"You  can  have  all  you  can  drink  at  one  pull, 
M'rice,"  said  Penrod  kindly. 

"You  said  I  could  have  all  I  want!"  protested 
Maurice,  reaching  for  the  bottle. 

"No,  I  didn't,"  returned  Penrod  quickly,  holding 
it  away  from  the  eager  hand. 

"He  did,  too!    Didn't  he,  Sam?" 

Sam  could  not  reply ;  his  eyes,  fixed  upon  the  bot 
tle,  protruded  strangely. 

"You  heard  him — didn't  you,  Sam?" 

"Well,  if  I  did  say  it  I  didn't  mean  it!"  said  Pen- 
rod  hastily,  quoting  from  one  of  the  authorities. 
"Looky  here,  M'rice,"  he  continued,  assuming  a  more 
placative  and  reasoning  tone,  "that  wouldn't  be  fair 
to  us.  I  guess  we  want  some  of  our  own  lickrish 
water,  don't  we?  The  bottle  ain't  much  over  two- 


MAURICE  LEVY'S  CONSTITUTION     109 

thirds  full  anyway.  What  I  meant  was,  you  can 
have  all  you  can  drink  at  one  pull." 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"Why,  this  way:  you  can  gulp  all  you  want,  so 
long  as  you  keep  swallering;  but  you  can't  take  the 
bottle  out  of  your  mouth  and  commence  again. 
Soon's  you  quit  swallering  it's  Sam's  turn." 

"No ;  you  can  have  next,  Penrod,"  said  Sam. 

"Well,  anyway,  I  mean  M'rice  has  to  give  the 
bottle  up  the  minute  he  stops  swallering." 

Craft  appeared  upon  the  face  of  Maurice,  like  a 
poster  pasted  on  a  wall. 

"I  can  drink  so  long  I  don't  stop  swallering?" 

"Yes;  that's  it." 

"All  right!"  he  cried.     "Gimme  the  bottle!" 

And  Penrod  placed  it  in  his  hand. 

"You  promise  to  let  me  drink  until  I  quit  swaller 
ing?"  Maurice  insisted. 

"Yes!"  said  both  boys  together. 

With  that,  Maurice  placed  the  bottle  to  his  lips 
and  began  to  drink.  Penrod  and  Sam  leaned  for 
ward  in  breathless  excitement.  They  had  feared 
Maurice  might  smell  the  contents  of  the  bottle;  but 
that  danger  was  past — this  was  the  crucial  moment. 
Their  fondest  hope  was  that  he  would  make  his 
first  swallow  a  voracious  one — it  was  impossible  to 
imagine  a  second.  They  expected  one  big,  gulping 
swallow  and  then  an  explosion,  with  fountain  effects. 

Little  they  knew  the  mettle  of  their  man!     Mau- 


110  PENROD 

rice  swallowed  once;  he  swallowed  twice — and  thrice 
— and  he  continued  to  swallow!  No  Adam's  apple 
was  sculptured  on  that  juvenile  throat,  but  the  in 
ternal  progress  of  the  liquid  was  not  a  whit  the  less 
visible.  His  eyes  gleamed  with  cunning  and  mali 
cious  triumph,  sidewise,  at  the  stunned  conspirators ; 
he  was  fulfilling  the  conditions  of  the  draught,  not 
once  breaking  the  thread  of  that  marvelous  swal- 
lering. 

His  audience  stood  petrified.  Already  Maurice 
had  swallowed  more  than  they  had  given  Duke — 
and  still  the  liquor  receded  in  the  uplifted  bottle! 
And  now  the  clear  glass  gleamed  above  the  dark  con 
tents  full  half  the  vessel's  length — and  Maurice  went 
on  drinking!  Slowly  the  clear  glass  increased  in  its 
dimensions — slowly  the  dark  diminished. 

Sam  Williams  made  a  horrified  movement  to  check 
him — but  Maurice  protested  passionately  with  his 
disengaged  arm,  and  made  vehement  vocal  noises 
remindful  of  the  contract;  whereupon  Sam  desisted 
and  watched  the  continuing  performance  in  a  state 
of  grisly  fascination. 

Maurice  drank  it  all!  He  drained  the  last  drop 
and  threw  the  bottle  in  the  air,  uttering  loud  ejacu 
lations  of  triumph  and  satisfaction. 

"Hah!"  he  cried,  blowing  out  his  cheeks,  inflating 
his  chest,  squaring  his  shoulders,  patting  his  stomach, 
and  wiping  his  mouth  contentedly.  "Hah!  Aha.J 
Waha !  Wafwah !  But  that  was  good !" 


MAURICE  LEVY'S  CONSTITUTION     111 

The  two  boys  stood  looking  at  him  in  stupor. 

"Well,  I  gotta  say  this,"  said  Maurice  graciously : 
"You  stuck  to  your  bargain  all  right  and  treated  me 
fair." 

Stricken  with  a  sudden  horrible  suspicion,  Penrod 
entered  the  storeroom  in  one  stride  and  lifted  the 
bottle  of  licorice  water  to  his  nose — then  to  his  lips. 
It  was  weak,  but  good;  he  had  made  no  mistake. 
And  Maurice  had  really  drained — to  the  dregs — 
the  bottle  of  old  hair  tonics,  dead  catsups,  syrups 
of  undesirable  preserves,  condemned  extracts  of 
vanilla  and  lemon,  decayed  chocolate,  ex-essence 
of  beef,  mixed  dental  preparations,  aromatic  spirits 
of  ammonia,  spirits  of  nitre,  alcohol,  arnica,  quinine, 
ipecac,  sal  volatile,  nux  vomica  and  licorice  water — 
with  traces  of  arsenic,  belladonna  and  strychnine. 

Penrod  put  the  licorice  water  out  of  sight  and 
turned  to  face  the  others.  Maurice  was  seating 
himself  on  a  box  just  outside  the  door  and  had  taken 
a  package  of  cigarettes  from  his  pocket. 

"Nobody  can  see  me  from  here,  can  they?"  he 
said,  striking  a  match.  "You  fellers  smoke?" 

"No,"  said  Sam,  staring  at  him  haggardly. 

"No,"  said  Penrod  in  a  whisper. 

Maurice  lit  his  cigarette  and  puffed  showily. 

"Well,  sir,"  he  remarked,  "you  fellers  are  cer 
tainly  square — I  gotta  say  that  much.  Honest, 
Penrod,  I  thought  you  was  after  me!  I  did  think 
so,"  he  added  sunnily;  "but  now  I  guess  you  like 


PENROD 

me,  or  else  you  wouldn't  of  stuck  to  it  about  letfcin' 
me  drink  it  all  if  I  kept  on  swallering." 

±ie  chatted  on  with  complete  geniality,  smoking 
his  cigarette  in  content.  And  as  he  ran  from  one 
topic  to  another  his  hearers  stared  at  him  in  a  kind 
of  torpor.  Never  once  did  they  exchange  a  glance 
with  each  other;  their  eyes  were  frozen  to  Maurice. 
The  cheerful  conversationalist  made  it  evident  that 
he  was  not  without  gratitude. 

"Well,"  he  said  as  he  finished  his  cigarette  and 
rose  to  go,  "you  fellers  have  treated  me  nice — and 
some  day  you  come  over  to  my  yard ;  I'd  like  to  run 
with  you  fellers.  You're  the  kind  of  fellers  I  like." 

Penrod's  jaw  fell;  Sam's  mouth  had  been  open  all 
the  time.  Neither  spoke. 

"I  gotta  go,"  observed  Maurice,  consulting  a 
handsome  watch.  "Gotta  get  dressed  for  the  cotil 
lon  right  after  lunch.  Come  on,  Sam.  Don't  you 
have  to  go,  too?" 

Sam  nodded  dazedly. 

"Well,  good-bye,  Penrod,"  said  Maurice  cordially. 
"I'm  glad  you  like  me  all  right.  Come  on,  Sam.'1' 

Penrod  leaned  against  the  doorpost  and  with  fixed 
and  glazing  eyes  watched  the  departure  of  his  two 
visitors.  Maurice  was  talking  volubly,  with  much 
gesticulation,  as  they  went;  but  Sam  walked  me 
chanically  and  in  silence,  scaring  at  his  brisk  com 
panion  and  keeping  at  a  little  distance  from  him. 

They  passed  from  sight,  Maurice  still  conversing 


MAURICE  LEVY^S  CONSTITUTION     113 

gayly — and  Penrod  slowly  betook  himself  into  the 
house,  his  head  bowed  upon  his  chest. 

Some  three  hours  later,  Mr.  Samuel  Williams, 
Waxen  clean  and  in  sweet  raiment,  made  his  reap 
pearance  in  Penrod's  yard,  yodelling  a  code-signal 
to  summon  forth  his  friend.  He  yodelled  loud,  long, 
and  frequently,  finally  securing  a  faint  response 
from  the  upper  air. 

"Where  are  you?"  shouted  Mr.  Williams,  his 
roving  glance  searching  ambient  heights.  Another 
low-spirited  yodel  reaching  his  ear,  he  perceived 
the  head  and  shoulders  of  his  friend  projecting  above 
the  roofridge  of  the  stable.  The  rest  of  Penrod's 
body  was  concealed  from  view,  reposing  upon  the 
opposite  slant  of  the  gable  and  precariously  secured 
by  the  crooking  of  his  elbows  over  the  ridge. 

"Yay!     What  you  doin'  up  there?" 

"Nothin'." 

"You  better  be  careful!"  Sam  called.  "You'll 
slide  off  and  fall  down  in  the  alley  if  you  don't  look 
out.  I  come  pert'  near  it  last  time  we  was  up  there. 
Come  on  down!  Ain't  you  go  in'  to  the  cotillon?" 

Penrod  made  no  reply.     Sam  came  nearer. 

"Say,"  he  called  up  in  a  guarded  voice,  "I  went 
to  our  telephone  a  while  ago  and  ast  him  how  he  was 
feelin',  and  he  said  he  felt  fine!" 

"So  did  I,"  said  Penrod.  "He  told  me  he  felt 
bully  J" 


114  PENROD 

Sam  thrust  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  brooded. 
The  opening  of  the  kitchen  door  caused  a  diversion. 
It  was  Delia. 

"Mister  Penrod,"  she  bellowed  forthwith,  "come 
ahn  down  fr'm  up  there!  Y'r  mamma's  at  the 
dancin'  class  waitin'  fer  ye,  an'  she's  telephoned  me 
they're  goin'  to  begin — an'  what's  the  matter  with 
ye?  Come  ahn  down  fr'm  up  there!" 

"Come  on !"  urged  Sam.  "We'll  be  late.  There 
go  Maurice  and  Marjorie  now." 

A  glittering  car  spun  by,  disclosing  briefly  a  genre 
picture  of  Marjorie  Jones  in  pink,  supporting  a 
monstrous  sheaf  of  American  Beauty  roses.  Mau 
rice,  sitting  shining  and  joyous  beside  her,  saw  both 
boys  and  waved  them  a  hearty  greeting  as  the  car 
turned  the  corner. 

Penrod  uttered  some  muffled  words  and  then 
waved  both  arms — either  in  response  or  as  an  ex~ 
pression  of  his  condition  of  mind;  it  may  have  been 
a  gesture  of  despair.  How  much  intention  there  was 
in  this  act — obviously  so  rash,  considering  the  posi 
tion  he  occupied — it  is  impossible  to  say.  Undeni 
ably  there  must  remain  a  suspicion  of  deliberate 
purpose. 

Delia  screamed  and  Sam  shouted.  Penrod  had 
disappeared  from  view. 

The  delayed  dance  was  about  to  begin  a  most 
uneven  cotillon  under  the  direction  of  its  slightly 


MAURICE  LEVY'S  CONSTITUTION     115 

frenzied  instructor,  when  Samuel  Williams  arrived. 

Mrs.  Schofield  hurriedly  left  the  ballroom;  while 
Miss  Rennsdale,  flushing  with  sudden  happiness, 
curtsied  profoundly  to  Professor  Bartet  and  ob 
tained  his  attention. 

"I  have  telled  you  fifty  times,"  he  informed  her 
passionately  ere  she  spoke,  "I  cannot  make  no  such 
changes.  If  your  partner  comes  you  have  to  dance 
with  him.  You  are  going  to  drive  me  crazy,  sure! 
What  is  it?  What  now?  What  you  want?" 

The  damsel  curtsied  again  and  handed  him  the 
following  communication,  addressed  to  herself: 

"Dear  madam  Please  excuse  me  from  dancing  the  coti- 
lon  with  you  this  afternoon  as  I  have  fell  off  the  barn 

"Sincerly  yours 

"PENROD  SCHOFIELD.** 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE    TWO    FAMILIES 

PENROD  entered  the  schoolroom,  Monday 
morning,  picturesquely  leaning  upon  a  man's 
cane  shortened  to  support  a  cripple  ap 
proaching  the  age  of  twelve.  He  arrived  about 
twenty  minutes  late,  limping  deeply,  his  brave  young 
mouth  drawn  with  pain,  and  the  sensation  he  created 
must  have  been  a  solace  to  him;  the  only  possible 
criticism  of  this  entrance  being  that  it  was  just  a 
shade  too  heroic.  Perhaps  for  that  reason  it  failed 
to  stagger  Miss  Spence,  a  woman  so  saturated  with 
suspicion  that  she  penalized  Penrod  for  tardiness  as 
promptly  and  as  coldly  as  if  he  had  been  a  mere, 

110 


THE  TWO  FAMILIES  117 

ordinary,  unmutilated  boy.  Nor  would  she  enter 
tain  any  discussion  of  the  justice  of  her  ruling.  It 
seemed,  almost,  that  she  feared  to  argue  with  him. 

However,  the  distinction  of  cane  and  limp  re 
mained  to  him,  consolations  which  he  protracted  far 
into  the  week — until  Thursday  evening,  in  fact,  when 
Mr.  Schofield,  observing  from  a  window  his  son's 
pursuit  of  Duke  round  and  round  the  backyard, 
confiscated  the  cane,  with  the  promise  that  it  should 
not  remain  idle  if  he  saw  Penrod  limping  again. 
Thus,  succeeding  a  depressing  Friday,  another  Sat 
urday  brought  the  necessity  for  new  inventions. 

It  was  a  scented  morning  in  apple-blossom  time. 
At  about  ten  of  the  clock  Penrod  emerged  hastily 
from  the  kitchen  door.  His  pockets  bulged  abnor 
mally  ;  so  did  his  cheeks,  and  he  swallowed  with  dif 
ficulty.  A  threatening  mop,  wielded  by  a  cooklike 
arm  in  a  checkered  sleeve,  followed  him  through  the 
doorway,  and  he  was  preceded  by  a  small,  hurried, 
wistful  dog  with  a  warm  doughnut  in  his  mouth. 
The  kitchen  door  slammed  petulantly,  enclosing  the 
sore  voice  of  Delia,  whereupon  Penrod  and  Duke 
seated  themselves  upon  the  pleasant  sward  and  im 
mediately  consumed  the  spoils  of  their  raid. 

From  the  cross-street  which  formed  the  side  bound- 
,ary  of  the  Schofields'  ample  yard  came  a  jingle  of 
harness  and  the  cadenced  clatter  of  a  pair  of  trotting 
horses,  and  Penrod,  looking  up,  beheld  the  passing 
of  a  fat  acquaintance,  torpid  amid  the  conservative 


T18  PENROD 

splendours  of  a  rather  old-fashioned  victoria.  This 
was  Roderick  Magsworth  Bitts,  Junior,  a  fellow  suf 
ferer  at  the  Friday  Afternoon  Dancing  Class,  but 
rtherwise  not  often  a  companion:  a  home-sheltered 
lad,  tutored  privately  and  preserved  against  the 
coarsening  influences  of  rude  comradeship  and  mis 
cellaneous  information.  Heavily  overgrown  in  all 
physical  dimensions,  virtuous,  and  placid,  this  clois 
tered  mutton  was  wholly  uninteresting  to  Penrod 
Schofield.  Nevertheless,  Roderick  Magsworth  Bitts, 
Junior,  was  a  personage  on  account  of  the  impor 
tance  of  the  Magsworth  Bitts  family;  and  it  was 
Penrod's  destiny  to  increase  Roderick's  celebrity  far, 
far  beyond  its  present  aristocratic  limitations. 

The  Magsworth  Bittses  were  important  because 
they  were  impressive;  there  was  no  other  reason. 
And  they  were  impressive  because  they  believed 
themselves  important.  The  adults  of  the  family 
were  impregnably  formal ;  they  dressed  with  reticent 
elegance,  and  wore  the  same  nose  and  the  same  ex 
pression — an  expression  which  indicated  that  they 
knew  something  exquisite  and  sacred  which  other 
people  could  never  know.  Other  people,  in  their 
presence,  were  apt  to  feel  mysteriously  ignoble  and 
to  become  secretly  uneasy  about  ancestors,  gloves, 
and  pronunciation.  The  Magsworth  Bitts  manner 
was  withholding  and  reserved,  though  sometimes 
gracious,  granting  small  smiles  as  great  favours  and 
giving  off  a  chilling  kind  of  preciousness.  Naturally, 


At  about  ten  of  the  clock  Penrod  emerged  hastily  from  the 
kitchen  door 


120  PENROD 

when  any  citizen  of  the  community  did  anything 
unconventional  or  improper,  or  made  a  mistake,  or 
had  a  relative  who  went  wrong,  that  citizen's  first 
and  worst  fear  was  that  the  Magsworth  Bittses 
would  hear  of  it.  In  fact,  this  painful  family  had 
for  years  terrorized  the  community,  though  the  com 
munity  had  never  realized  that  it  was  terrorized,  and 
invariably  spoke  of  the  family  as  the  "most  charm 
ing  circle  in  town."  By  common  consent,  Mrs. 
Roderick  Magsworth  Bitts  officiated  as  the  supreme 
model  as  well  as  critic-in-chief  of  morals  and  deport 
ment  for  all  the  unlucky  people  prosperous  enough 
to  be  elevated  to  her  acquaintance. 

Magsworth  was  the  important  part  of  the  name. 
Mrs.  Roderick  Magsworth  Bitts  was  a  Magsworth 
born,  herself,  and  the  Magsworth  crest  decorated  not 
only  Mrs.  Magsworth  Bitts'  note-paper  but  was  on 
the  china,  on  the  table  linen,  on  the  chimney-pieces, 
on  the  opaque  glass  of  the  front  door,  on  the  victoria, 
and  on  the  harness,  though  omitted  from  the  garden- 
hose  and  the  lawn-mower. 

Naturally,  no  sensible  person  dreamed  of  connect 
ing  that  illustrious  crest  with  the  unfortunate  and 
notorious  Rena  Magsworth  whose  name  had  grown 
week  by  week  into  larger  and  larger  type  upon  the 
front  pages  of  newspapers,  owing  to  the  gradually 
increasing  public  and  official  belief  that  she  had 
poisoned  a  family  of  eight.  However,  the  statement 
that  no  sensible  person  could  have  connected  the 


THE  TWO  FAMILIES 

Magsworth  Bitts  family  with  the  arsenical  Rena 
takes  no  account  of  Penrod  Schofield. 

Penrod  never  missed  a  murder,  a  hanging  or  an 
electrocution  in  the  newspapers;  he  knew  almost  as 
much  about  Rena  Magsworth  as  her  jurymen  did, 
though  they  sat  in  a  court-room  two  hundred  miles 
away,  and  he  had  it  in  mind — so  frank  he  was — 
to  ask  Roderick  Magsworth  Bitts,  Junior,  if  the 
murderess  happened  to  be  a  relative. 

The  present  encounter,  being  merely  one  of  apa 
thetic  greeting,  did  not  afford  the  opportunity.  Pen- 
rod  took  off  his  cap,  and  Roderick,  seated  between 
his  mother  and  one  of  his  grown-up  sisters,  nodded 
sluggishly,  but  neither  Mrs.  Magsworth  Bitts  nor 
her  daughter  acknowledged  the  salutation  of  the  boy 
in  the  yard.  They  disapproved  of  him  as  a  person 
of  little  consequence,  and  that  little,  bad.  Snubbed, 
Penrod  thoughtfully  restored  his  cap  to  his  head. 
A  boy  can  be  cut  as  effectually  as  a  man,  and  this 
one  was  chilled  to  a  low  temperature.  He  wondered 
if  they  despised  him  because  they  had  seen  a  last 
fragment  of  doughnut  in  his  hand ;  then  he  thought 
that  perhaps  it  was  Duke  who  had  disgraced  him. 
Duke  was  certainly  no  fashionable  looking  dog. 

The  resilient  spirits  of  youth,  however,  presently 
revived,  and  discovering  a  spider  upon  one  knee  and 
a  beetle  simultaneously  upon  the  other,  Penrod  for 
got  Mrs.  Roderick  Magsworth  Bitts  in  the  course 
of  some  experiments  infringing  upon  the  domain  of 


122  PENROD 

Doctor  Carrel.  Penrod's  efforts — with  the  aid  of 
a  pin — to  effect  a  transference  of  living  organism 
were  unsuccessful;  but  he  convinced  himself  forever 
that  a  spider  cannot  walk  with  a  beetle's  legs.  Delia 
then  enhanced  zoological  interest  by  depositing  upon 
the  back  porch  a  large  rat-trap  from  the  cellar,  the 
prison  of  four  live  rats  awaiting  execution. 

Penrod  at  once  took  possession,  retiring  to  the 
empty  stable,  where  he  installed  the  rats  in  a  small 
wooden  box  with  a  sheet  of  broken  window-glass — 
held  down  by  a  brickbat — over  the  top.  Thus  the 
symptoms  of  their  agitation,  when  the  box  was 
shaken  or  hammered  upon,  could  be  studied  at  lei 
sure.  Altogether  this  Saturday  was  starting  splen 
didly. 

After  a  time,  the  student's  attention  was  with 
drawn  from  his  specimens  by  a  peculiar  smell,  which, 
being  followed  up  by  a  system  of  selective  sniffing, 
proved  to  be  an  emanation  leaking  into  the  stable 
from  the  alley.  He  opened  the  back  door. 

Across  the  alley  was  a  cottage  which  a  thrifty 
neighbour  had  built  on  the  rear  line  of  his  lot  and 
rented  to  negroes ;  and  the  fact  that  a  negro  family 
was  now  in  process  of  "moving  in"  was  manifested 
by  the  presence  of  a  thin  mule  and  a  ramshackle 
wagon,  the  latter  laden  with  the  semblance  of  a  stove 
and  a  few  other  unpretentious  household  articles. 

A  very  small  darky  boy  stood  near  the  mule.     In 


THE  TWO  FAMILIES 

his  hand  was  a  rusty  chain,  and  at  the  end  of  the 
chain  the  delighted  Penrod  perceived  the  source  of 
the  special  smell  he  was  tracing — a  large  raccoon. 
Duke,  who  had  shown  not  the  slightest  interest  in 
the  rats,  set  up  a  frantic  barking  and  simulated  a 
ravening  assault  upon  the  strange  animal.  It  was 
only  a  bit  of  acting,  however,  for  Duke  was  an  old 
dog,  had  suffered  much,  and  desired  no  unnecessary 
sorrow,  wherefore  he  confined  his  demonstrations  to 
alarums  and  excursions,  and  presently  sat  down  at 
a  distance  and  expressed  himself  by  intermittent 
threatenings  in  a  quavering  falsetto. 

"What's  that  'coon's  name?"  asked  Penrod,  in 
tending  no  discourtesy. 

"Aim  gommo  mame,"  said  the  small  darky. 

"What?" 

"Aim  gommo  mame." 

"What?" 

The  small  darky  looked  annoyed. 

"Aim  gommo  mame,  I  hell  you,"  he  said  impa» 
tiently. 

Penrod  conceived  that  insult  was  intended. 

"What's  the  matter  of  you?"  he  demanded  ad 
vancing.  "You  get  fresh  with  me,  and  I'll " 

"Hyuh,  white  boy!"  A  coloured  youth  of  Pen- 
tod's  own  age  appeared  in  the  doorway  of  the  cot 
tage.  "You  let  'at  brothuh  mine  alone.  He  ain' 
do  nothin'  to  you." 


PENROD 

"Well,  why  can't  he  answer?" 

"He  can't.  He  can't  talk  no  better'n  what  he 
was  talkin'.  He  tongue-tie'." 

"Oh,"  said  Penrod,  mollified.  Then,  obeying  an 
impulse  so  universally  aroused  in  the  human  breast 
under  like  circumstances  that  it  has  become  a  quip, 
he  turned  to  the  afflicted  one. 

"Talk  some  more,"  he  begged  eagerly. 

"I  hoe  you  ackoom  aim  gommo  mame,"  was  the 
prompt  response,  in  which  a  slight  ostentation  was 
manifest.  Unmistakable  tokens  of  vanity  had  ap 
peared  upon  the  small,  swart  countenance. 

"What's  he  mean?"  asked  Penrod,  enchanted. 

"He  say  he  tole  you  'at  'coon  ain'  got  no  name." 

"What's  your  name?" 

"I'm  name  Herman." 

"What's  his  name?"  Penrod  pointed  to  the 
tongue-tied  boy. 

"Verman." 

"What!" 

"Verman.  Was  three  us  boys  in  ow  fam'ly. 
Ol'est  one  name  Sherman.  'N'en  come  me;  I'm 
Herman.  'N'en  come  him;  he  Verman.  Sherman 
dead.  Verman,  he  de  littles'  one." 

"You  goin'  to  live  here?" 

"Umhuh.  Done  move  in  f'm  way  outen  on  a 
fahm." 

He  pointed  to  the  north  with  his  right  hand,  and 
Penrod's  eyes  opened  wide  as  they  followed  the 


THE  TWO  FAMILIES 

gesture.     Herman  had  no  forefinger  on  that  hand, 

"Look  there!"  exclaimed  Penrod.  "You  haven't 
got  any  finger!" 

"/  mum  map,"  said  Verman,  with  egregious  pride. 

"He  done  'at,"  interpreted  Herman,  chuckling. 
"Yessuh;  done  chop  'er  spang  off,  long  'go.  He's  a 
playin'  wif  a  ax  an'  I  lay  my  finguh  on  de  do'-sill 
an'  I  say,  'Verman,  chop  'er  off!'  So  Verman  he 
chop  'er  right  spang  off  up  to  de  roots!  Yessuh." 

"What  for?" 

"Jes'  fo'  nothin'." 

"He  hoe  me  hoo,"  remarked  Verman. 

"Yessuh,  I  tole  him  to,"  said  Herman,  "an'  he 
chop  'er  off,  an'  ey  ain't  airy  oth'  one  evuh  growD 
on  wheres  de  ole  one  use  to  grow.  Nosuh!" 

"But  what'd  you  tell  him  to  do  it  for?" 

"Nothin'.    I  jes'  said  it  'at  way — an'  he  jes'  chop 


er  off!" 


Both  brothers  looked  pleased  and  proud.  Pen- 
rod's  profound  interest  was  flatteringly  visible,  a 
tribute  to  their  unusualness. 

"Hem  bow  goy,"  suggested  Verman  eagerly. 

"Aw  ri',"  said  Herman.  "Ow  sistuh  Queenie,  she 
a  growed-up  woman ;  she  got  a  goituh." 

"Got  a  what?" 

"Goituh.  Swellin'  on  her  neck — grea'  big  swellin'. 
She  heppin'  mammy  move  in  now.  You  look  in  de 
front-room  winduh  wheres  she  sweepin' ;  you  kin  see 
it  on  her." 


PENROD 

Penrod  looked  in  the  window  and  was  rewarded 
by  a  fine  view  of  Queenie's  goitre.  He  had  never 
before  seen  one,  and  only  the  lure  of  further  con 
versation  on  the  part  of  Verman  brought  him  from 
the  window. 

"Verman  say  tell  you  'bout  pappy,"  explained 
Herman.  "Mammy  an'  Queenie  move  in  town 
an'  go  git  de  house  all  fix  up  befo'  pappy  git 
out." 

"Out  of  where?" 

"Jail.  Pappy  cut  a  man,  an'  de  police  done  kep' 
him  in  jail  evuh  sense  Chris'mus-time ;  but  dey  goin' 
tuhn  him  loose  ag'in  nex'  week." 

"What'd  he  cut  the  other  man  with?" 

"Wif  a  pitchfawk." 

Penrod  began  to  feel  that  a  lifetime  spent  with 
this  fascinating  family  were  all  too  short.  The 
brothers,  glowing  with  amiability,  were  as  enrap 
tured  as  he.  For  the  first  time  in  their  lives  they 
moved  in  the  rich  glamour  of  sensationalism.  Her 
man  was  prodigal  of  gesture  with  his  right  hand; 
and  Verman,  chuckling  with  delight,  talked  fluently, 
though  somewhat  consciously.  They  cheerfully 
agreed  to  keep  the  raccoon — already  beginning  to 
be  mentioned  as  "our  'coon"  by  Penrod — in  Mr. 
Schofield's  empty  stable,  and,  when  the  animal  had 
been  chained  to  the  wall  near  the  box  of  rats  and 
supplied  with  a  pan  of  fair  water,  they  assented 
to  their  new  friend's  suggestion  (inspired  by  a  fine 


THE  TWO  FAMILIES  127 

sense  of  the  artistic  harmonies)  that  the  heretofore 
nameless  pet  be  christened  Sherman,  in  honour  of 
their  deceased  relative. 

At  this  juncture  was  heard  from  the  front  yard 
the  sound  of  that  yodelling  which  is  the  peculiar 
accomplishment  of  those  whose  voices  have  not 
"changed."  Penrod  yodelled  a  response;  and  Mr. 
Samuel  Williams  appeared,  a  large  bundle  under 
his  arm. 

"Yay,  Penrod!"  was  his  greeting,  casual  enough 
from  without ;  but,  having  entered,  he  stopped  short 
and  emitted  a  prodigious  whistle.  "Ya-a-ay!"  he 
then  shouted.  "Look  at  the  'coon!" 

"I  guess  you  better  say,  'Look  at  the  'coon !'  " 
Penrod  returned  proudly.  "They's  a  good  deal 
more'n  him  to  look  at,  too.  Talk  some,  Verman.': 
Verman  complied. 

Sam  was  warmly  interested.  "What'd  you  say 
his  name  was?"  he  asked. 

"Verman." 

"How  d'you  spell  it?" 

"V-e-r-m-a-n,"  replied  Penrod,  having  previously 
received  this  information  from  Herman. 

"Oh!"  said  Sam. 

"Point  to  sumpthing,  Herman,"  Penrod  com 
manded,  and  Sam's  excitement,  when  Herman 
pointed  was  sufficient  to  the  occasion. 

Penrod,  the  discoverer,  continued  his  exploitation 
of  the  manifold  wonders  of  the  Sherman,  Herman, 


128  PENROD 

and  Verman  collection.  With  the  air  of  a  proprietor 
he  escorted  Sam  into  the  alley  for  a  good  look  at 
Queenie  (who  seemed  not  to  care  for  her  increasing 
celebrity)  and  proceeded  to  a  dramatic  climax — 
the  recital  of  the  episode  of  the  pitchfork  and  its 
consequences. 

The  cumulative  effect  was  enormous,,  and  could 
have  but  one  possible  result.  The  normal  boy  is 
always  at  least  one  half  Barnum. 

"Let's  get  up  a  SHOW!" 

Penrod  and  Sam  both  claimed  to  have  said  it  first, 
a  question  left  unsettled  in  the  ecstasies  of  hurried 
preparation.  The  bundle  under  Sam's  arm,  brought 
with  no  definite  purpose,  proved  to  have  been  an 
inspiration.  It  consisted  of  broad  sheets  of  light 
yellow  wrapping-paper,  discarded  by  Sam's  mother 
in  her  spring  house-cleaning.  There  were  half -filled 
cans  and  buckets  of  paint  in  the  storeroom  adjoin 
ing  the  carriage-house,  and  presently  the  side  wall 
of  the  stable  flamed  information  upon  the  passer-by 
from  a  great  and  spreading  poster. 

"Publicity,"  primal  requisite  of  all  theatrical  and 
amphitheatrical  enterprise  thus  provided,  subse 
quent  arrangements  proceeded  with  a  fury  of  energy 
which  transformed  the  empty  hay-loft.  True,  it  is 
impossible  to  say  just  what  the  hay -loft  was  trans 
formed  into,  but  history  warrantably  clings  to  the 
statement  that  it  was  transformed.  Duke  and  Sher 
man  were  secured  to  the  rear  wall  at  a  considerable 


THE  TWO  FAMILIES  129 

distance  from  each  other,  after  an  exhibition  of 
reluctance  on  the  part  of  Duke,  during  which  he 
displayed  a  nervous  energy  and  agility  almost  mirac 
ulous  in  so  small  and  middle-aged  a  dog.  Benches 
were  improvised  for  spectators ;  the  rats  were  brought 
up ;  finally  the  rafters,  corn-crib,  and  hay-chute  were 
ornamented  with  flags  and  strips  of  bunting  from 
Sam  Williams'  attic,  Sam  returning  from  the  ex 
cursion  wearing  an  old  silk  hat,  and  accompanied 
(on  account  of  a  rope)  by  a  fine  dachshund  encoun 
tered  on  the  highway.  In  the  matter  of  personal 
decoration  paint  was  generously  used:  an  interpre 
tation  of  the  spiral,  inclining  to  whites  and  greens, 
becoming  brilliantly  effective  upon  the  dark  facial 
backgrounds  of  Herman  and  Verman;  while  the 
countenances  of  Sam  and  Penrod  were  each  supplied 
with  the  black  moustache  and  imperial,  lacking 
which,  no  professional  showman  can  be  esteemed 
conscientious. 

It  was  regretfully  decided,  in  council,  that  no  at 
tempt  be  made  to  add  Queenie  to  the  list  of  exhibits, 
her  brothers  warmly  declining  to  act  as  ambassadors 
in  that  cause.  They  were  certain  Queenie  would 
not  like  the  idea,  they  said,  and  Herman  pictur 
esquely  described  her  activity  on  occasions  when  she 
had  been  annoyed  by  too  much  attention  to  her  ap 
pearance.  However,  Penrod's  disappointment  was 
alleviated  by  an  inspiration  which  came  to  him  in  a 
moment  of  pondering  upon  the  dachshund,  and  the 


130  PENROD 

entire  party  went  forth  to  add  an  enriching  line  to 
the  poster. 

They  found  a  group  of  seven,  including  two  adults, 
already  gathered  in  the  street  to  read  and  admire 
this  work. 

SCHoFiELD  &  WiLLiAMS 

BiG  SHOW 

ADMiSSioN  1  CENT  oR  20  PiNS 
MUSUEM  oF  CURioSiTES 

Now  GoiNG  oN 

SHERMAN  HERMAN  &  VERMAN 

THiER  FATHERS  IN  JAiL  STABED  A 

MAN  WiTH  A 

PiTCHFORK 
SHERMAN  THE  WiLD  ANIMAL 

CAPTURED  IN  AFRiCA 

HERMAN  THE  ONE  FiNGERED  TATOOD 
WILD  MAN  VERMAN  THE  SAVAGE  TATOOD 
WILD  BoY  TALKS  ONLY  IN  HiS  NAiTiVE 
LANGUAGS.  Do  NoT  FAIL  TO  SEE  DUKE 
THE  INDiAN  DOG  ALSO  THE  MiCHiGAN 
TRAiNED  RATS 

A  heated  argument  took  place  between  Sam  and 
Penrod,  the  point  at  issue  being  settled,  finally,  by 
the  drawing  of  straws;  whereupon  Penrod,  with 


THE  TWO  FAMILIES 

pardonable  self-importance — in  the  presence  of  an 
audience  now  increased  to  nine — slowly  painted  the 
words  inspired  by  the  dachshund: 

IMPoRTENT  Do  NoT  MISS  THE   SoUTH 
AMERiCAN  DoG  PART  ALLIGATOR. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    NEW    STAR 

SAM,  Penrod,  Herman,  and  Verman  withdrew 
in  considerable  state  from  non-paying  view, 
and,  repairing  to  the  hay-loft,  declared  the 
exhibition  open  to  the  public.     Oral  proclamation 
was  made  by  Sam,  and  then  the  loitering  multitude 
was  enticed  by  the  seductive  strains  of  a  band;  the 
two  partners  performing  upon  combs   and  paper, 
Herman  and  Verman  upon  tin  pans  with  sticks. 

The  effect  was  immediate.  Visitors  appeared 
upon  the  stairway  and  sought  admission.  Herman 
and  Verman  took  position  among  the  exhibits,  near 
the  wall;  Sam  stood  at  the  entrance,  officiating  as 

132 


THE  NEW  STAR  133 

barker  and  ticket-seller ;  while  Penrod,  with  debonair 
suavity,  acted  as  curator,  master  of  ceremonies,  and 
lecturer.  He  greeted  the  first  to  enter  with  a  courtly 
bow.  They  consisted  of  Miss  Rennsdale  and  her 
nursery  governess,  and  they  paid  spot  cash  for  their 
admission. 

"Walk  in,  lay-deeze,  walk  right  in — pray  do  not 
obstruck  the  passageway,"  said  Penrod,  in  a  remark 
able  voice.  "Pray  be  seated ;  there  is  room  for  each 
and  all." 

Miss  Rennsdale  and  governess  were  followed  by 
Mr.  Georgie  Bassett  and  baby  sister  (which  proves 
the  perfection  of  Georgie's  character)  and  six  or 
seven  other  neighbourhood  children — a  most  satis 
factory  audience,  although,  subsequent  to  Miss 
Rennsdale  and  governess,  admission  was  wholly  b^ 
pin. 

"6r£7i-til-mun  and  Za?/-deeze,"  shouted  Penrod,  "I 
will  first  call  your  at-tain-shon  to  our  genuine  South 
American  dog,  part  alligator!"  He  pointed  to  the 
dachshund,  and  added,  in  his  ordinary  tone,  "That's 
him."  Straightway  reassuming  the  character  of 
showman,  he  bellowed:  "Next,  you  see  Duke,  the 
genuine,  full-blooded  Indian  dog  from  the  far  West 
ern  Plains  and  Rocky  Mountains.  Next,  the  trained 
Michigan  rats,  captured  way  up  there,  and  trained 
to  jump  and  run  all  around  the  box  at  the — at  the 
— at  the  slightest  2?n?-text!"  He  paused,  partly  to 
take  breath  and  partly  to  enjoy  his  own  surprised 


PENROD 

discovery  that  this  phrase  was  in  his  vocabulary. 

"At  the  slightest  pre-kext !"  he  repeated,  and  con 
tinued,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word:  "I  will  now 
hammer  upon  the  box  and  each  and  all  may  see  these 
genuine  full-blooded  Michigan  rats  perform  at  the 
slightest  pre-texi !  There !  (That's  all  they  do  now, 
but  I  and  Sam  are  goin'  to  train  'em  lots  more  before 
this  afternoon.)  <jr£7i-til-mun  and  lay-deeze  I  will 
kindly  now  call  your  at-tain-shon  to  Sherman,  the 
wild  animal  from  Africa,  costing  the  lives  of  the  wild 
trapper  and  many  of  his  companions.  Next,  let 
me  kindly  interodoos  Herman  and  Verman.  Their 
father  got  mad  and  stuck  his  pitchfork  right  inside 
of  another  man,  exactly  as  promised  upon  the  adver 
tisements  outside  the  big  tent,  and  got  put  in  jail. 
Look  at  them  well,  gen-til-mun  and  lay-deeze,  there 
is  no  extra  charge,  and  re-mem-bur  you  are  each  and 
all  now  looking  at  two  wild,  tattooed  men  which  the 
father  of  is  in  jail.  Point,  Herman.  Each  and  all 
will  have  a  chance  to  see.  Point  to  sumpthing  else, 
Herman.  This  is  the  only  genuine  one-fingered  tat 
tooed  wild  man.  Last  on  the  programme,  gen-til- 
mun  and  lay-deeze,  we  have  Verman,  the  savage  tat 
tooed  wild  boy,  that  can't  speak  only  his  native 
foreign  languages.  Talk  some,  Verman." 

Verman  obliged  and  made  an  instantaneous  hit. 
He  was  encored  rapturously,  again  and  again ;  and, 
thrilling  with  the  unique  pleasure  of  being  appre 
ciated  and  misunderstood  at  the  same  time,  would 


THE  NEW  STAR  135 

have  talked  all  day  but  too  gladly.  Sam  Williams, 
however,  with  a  true  showman's  foresight,  whispered 
to  Penrod,  who  rang  down  on  the  monologue. 
.  "G^-til-mun  and  Za?/-deeze,  this  closes  our  puf- 
formance.  Pray  pass  out  quietly  and  with  as  little 
jostling  as  possible.  As  soon  as  you  are  all  out 
there's  goin'  to  be  a  new  pufformance,  and  each  and 
all  are  welcome  at  the  same  and  simple  price  of  ad- 
1  mission.  Pray  pass  out  quietly  and  with  as  little 
jostling  as  possible.  Re-mem-bur  the  price  is  only 
one  cent,  the  tenth  part  of  a  dime,  or  twenty  pins, 
no  bent  ones  taken.  Pray  pass  out  quietly  and  with 
as  little  jostling  as  possible.  The  Schofield  and 
Williams  Military  Band  will  play  before  each  puf- 
formance,  and  each  and  all  are  welcome  for  the  same 
and  simple  price  of  admission.  Pray  pass  out  quietly 
and  with  as  little  jostling  as  possible." 

Forthwith,  the  Schofield  and  Williams  Military 
Band  began  a  second  overture,  in  which  something 
vaguely  like  a  tune  was  at  times  distinguishable; 
and  all  of  the  first  audience  returned,  most  of  them 
having  occupied  the  interval  in  hasty  excursions  for 
more  pins;  Miss  Rennsdale  and  governess,  however, 
again  paying  coin  of  the  Republic  and  receiving 
deference  and  the  best  seats  accordingly.  And  when 
a  third  performance  found  all  of  the  same  inveterate 
patrons  once  more  crowding  the  auditorium,  and 
seven  recruits  added,  the  pleasurable  excitement  of 
the  partners  in  their  venture  will  be  understood  by 


136  PENROD 

any  one  who  has  seen  a  metropolitan  manager  stroll 
ing  about  the  foyer  of  his  theatre  some  evening 
during  the  earlier  stages  of  an  assured  "phenomenal 


run." 


From  the  first,  there  was  no  question  which  feature 
of  the  entertainment  was  the  attraction  extraordi 
nary:  Verman — Verman,  the  savage  tattooed  wild 
boy,  speaking  only  his  native  foreign  languages — 
Verman  was  a  triumph!  Beaming,  wreathed  in 
smiles,  melodious,  incredibly  fluent,  he  had  but  to 
open  his  lips  and  a  dead  hush  fell  upon  the  audience. 
Breathless,  they  leaned  forward,  hanging  upon  his 
every  semi-syllable,  and,  when  Penrod  checked  the 
flow,  burst  into  thunders  of  applause,  which  Verman 
received  with  happy  laughter. 

Alas!  he  delayed  not  o'er  long  to  display  all  the 
egregiousness  of  a  new  star ;  but  for  a  time  there  was 
no  caprice  of  his  too  eccentric  to  be  forgiven.  Dur 
ing  Penrod's  lecture  upon  the  other  curios,  the  tat 
tooed  wild  boy  continually  stamped  his  foot,  grinned, 
and  gesticulated,  tapping  his  tiny  chest,  and  point 
ing  to  himself  as  it  were  to  say :  "Wait  for  Me !  I  am 
the  Big  Show."  So  soon  they  learn;  so  soon  they 
learn!  And  (again  alas!)  this  spoiled  darling  of 
public  favour,  like  many  another,  was  fated  to  know, 
in  good  time,  the  fickleness  of  that  favour. 

But  during  all  the  morning  performances  he  was 
the  idol  of  his  audience  and  looked  it!  The  climax 
of  his  popularity  came  during  the  fifth  overture  of 


THE  NEW  STAR  137 

the  Schofield  and  Williams  Military  Band,  when  the 
music  was  quite  drowned  in  the  agitated  clamours 
of  Miss  Rennsdale,  who  was  endeavouring  to  ascend 
the  stairs  in  spite  of  the  physical  dissuasion  of  her 
governess. 

"I  won't  go  home  to  lunch !"  screamed  Miss  Renns 
dale,  her  voice  accompanied  by  a  sound  of  ripping. 
"I  will  hear  the  tattooed  wild  boy  talk  some  more! 
It's  lovely — I  will  hear  him  talk!  I  will!  I  will! 
I  want  to  listen  to  Verman — I  want  to — I  WANT 

Wailing,  she  was  borne  away — of  her  sex  not  the 
first  to  be  fascinated  by  obscurity,  nor  the  last  to 
champion  its  eloquence. 

Verman  was  almost  unendurable  after  this,  but, 
like  many,  many  other  managers,  Schofield  and  Wil 
liams  restrained  their  choler,  and  even  laughed  ful- 
somely  when  their  principal  attraction  essayed  the 
role  of  a  comedian  in  private,  and  capered  and 
squawked  in  sheer,  fatuous  vanity. 

The  first  performance  of  the  afternoon  rivalled  the 
successes  of  the  morning,  and  although  Miss  Renns 
dale  was  detained  at  home,  thus  drying  up  the  single 
source  of  cash  income  developed  before  lunch,  Mau 
rice  Levy  appeared,  escorting  Marjorie  Jones,  and 
paid  coin  for  two  admissions,  dropping  the  money 
into  Sam's  hand  with  a  careless — nay,  a  contemp 
tuous — gesture.  At  sight  of  Marjorie,  Penrod 
Schofieid  flushed  under  his  new  moustache  (repainted 


138  PENROD 

since  noon)  and  lectured  as  he  had  never  lectured 
before.  A  new  grace  invested  his  every  gesture; 
a  new  sonorousness  rang  in  his  voice;  a  simple  and 
manly  pomposity  marked  his  very  walk  as  he 
passed  from  curio  to  curio.  And  when  he  fearlessly 
handled  the  box  of  rats  and  hammered  upon  it  with 
cool  insouciance,  he  beheld — for  the  first  time  in  his 
life — a  purl  of  admiration  eddying  in  Marjorie's 
lovely  eye,  a  certain  softening  of  that  eye.  And 
then  Verman  spake — and  Penrod  was  forgotten. 
Marjorie's  eye  rested  upon  him  no  more. 

A  heavily  equipped  chauffeur  ascended  the  stair 
way,  bearing  the  message  that  Mrs.  Levy  awaited 
her  son  and  his  lady.  Thereupon,  having  devoured 
the  last  sound  permitted  (by  the  managers)  to  issue 
from  Verman,  Mr.  Levy  and  Miss  Jones  departed 
to  a  real  matinee  at  a  real  theatre,  the  limpid  eyes 
of  Marjorie  looking  back  softly  over  her  shoulder 
— but  only  at  the  tattooed  wild  boy.  Nearly  always 
it  is  woman  who  puts  the  irony  into  life. 

After  this,  perhaps  because  of  sated  curiosity, 
perhaps  on  account  of  a  pin  famine,  the  attendance 
began  to  languish.  Only  four  responded  to  the  next 
call  of  the  band;  the  four  dwindled  to  three;  finally 
the  entertainment  was  given  for  one  blase  auditor, 
and  Schofield  and  Williams  looked  depressed.  Then 
followed  an  interval  when  the  band  played  in  vain. 

About  three  o'clock  Schofield  and  Williams  were 
gloomily  discussing  various  unpromising  devices  for 


Maurice  Levy  appeared,  escorting  Marjorie  Jones,  and  paid 
coin  for  two  admissions 


140  PENROD 

startling  the  public  into  a  renewal  of  interest,  when 
another  patron  unexpectedly  appeared  and  paid  a 
cent  for  his  admission.  News  of  the  Big  Show  and 
Museum  of  Curiosities  had  at  last  penetrated  the 
far,  cold  spaces  of  interstellar  niceness,  for  this  new 
patron  consisted  of  no  less  than  Roderick  Mags- 
worth  Bitts,  Junior,  escaped  in  a  white  "sailor  suit" 
from  the  Manor  during  a  period  of  severe  maternal 
and  tutorial  preoccupation. 

He  seated  himself  without  parley,  and  the  pufform- 
ance  was  offered  for  his  entertainment  with  ad 
mirable  conscientiousness.  True  to  the  Lady  Clara 
caste  and  training,  Roderick's  pale,  fat  face  ex 
pressed  nothing  except  an  impervious  superiority 
and,  as  he  sat,  cold  and  unimpressed  upon  the  front 
bench,  like  a  large,  white  lump,  it  must  be  said  that 
he  made  a  discouraging  audience  "to  play  to."  He 
was  not,  however,  unresponsive — far  from  it.  He 
offered  comment  very  chilling  to  the  warm  grandilo 
quence  of  the  orator. 

"That's  my  uncle  Ethelbert's  dachshund,"  he 
remarked,  at  the  beginning  of  the  lecture.  "You 
better  take  him  back  if  you  don't  want  to  get  ar 
rested."  And  when  Penrod,  rather  uneasily  ignoring 
the  interruption,  proceeded  to  the  exploitation  of 
the  genuine,  full-blooded  Indian  dog,  Duke,  "Why 
don't  you  try  to  give  that  old  dog  away?"  asked 
Roderick.  "You  couldn't  sell  him." 

"My  papa  would  buy  me  a  lots  better  'coon  than 


THE  NEW  STAR  141 

that,"  was  the  information  volunteered  a  little  later, 
"only  I  wouldn't  want  the  nasty  old  thing." 

Herman  of  the  missing  finger  obtained  no  greater 
indulgence.  "Pooh!"  said  Roderick.  "We  have 
two  fox-terriers  in  our  stables  that  took  prizes  at 
the  kennel  show,  and  their  tails  were  bit  off.  There's 
a  man  that  always  bites  fox-terriers'  tails  off." 

"Oh,  my  gosh,  what  a  lie!"  exclaimed  Sam  Wil 
liams  ignorantly.  "Go  on  with  the  show  whether 
he  likes  it  or  not,  Penrod.  He's  paid  his  money." 

Verman,  confident  in  his  own  singular  powers, 
chuckled  openly  at  the  failure  of  the  other  attrac 
tions  to  charm  the  frosty  visitor,  and,  when  his  turn 
came,  poured  forth  a  torrent  of  conversation  which 
was  straightway  damned. 

"Rotten,"  said  Mr.  Bitts  languidly.  "Anybody 
could  talk  like  that.  /  could  do  it  if  I  wanted  to." 

Verman  paused  suddenly. 

"Yes,  you  could!"  exclaimed  Penrod,  stung. 
"Let's  hear  you  do  it,  then." 

"Yessir!"  the  other  partner  shouted.  "Let's  just 
hear  you  do  it!" 

"I  said  I  could  if  I  wanted  to,"  responded  Rod 
erick.  "I  didn't  say  I  would." 

"Yay!    Knows  he  can't!"  sneered  Sam. 

"I  can,  too,  if  I  try." 

"Well,  let's  hear  you  try !" 

So  challenged,  the  visitor  did  try,  but,  in  the  ab 
sence  of  an  impartial  jury,  his  effort  was  considered 


PENROD 

so  pronounced  a  failure  that  he  was  howled  down, 
derided,  and  mocked  with  great  clamours. 

"Anyway,"  said  Roderick,  when  things  had  quieted 
down,  "if  I  couldn't  get  up  a  better  show  than  this 
I'd  sell  out  and  leave  town." 

Not  having  enough  presence  of  mind  to  inquire 
what  he  would  sell  out,  his  adversaries  replied  with 
mere  formless  yells  of  scorn. 

"I  could  get  up  a  better  show  than  this  with  my 
left  hand,"  Roderick  asserted. 

"Well,  what  would  you  have  in  your  ole  show?" 
asked  Penrod,  condescending  to  language. 

"That's  all  right,  what  I'd  have.    I'd  have  enough !" 

"You  couldn't  get  Herman  and  Verman  in  your 
ole  show." 

"No,  and  I  wouldn't  want  'em,  either!" 

"Well,  what  would  you  have?"  insisted  Penrod 
derisively.  "You'd  have  to  have  sumpthing — you 
couldn't  be  a  show  yourself!" 

"How  do  you  know?"  This  was  but  meandering 
while  waiting  for  ideas,  and  evoked  another  yell. 

"You  think  you  could  be  a  show  all  by  yourself?" 
demanded  Penrod. 

"How  do  you  know  I  couldn't?" 

Two  white  boys  and  two  black  boys  shrieked  their 
scorn  of  the  boaster. 

"I  could,  too!"  Roderick  raised  his  voice  to  a 
sudden  howl,  obtaining  a  hearing. 

"Well,  why  don't  you  tell  us  how?" 


THE  NEW  STAR  143 

"Well,  I  know  how,  all  right,"  said  Roderick. 
"If  anybody  asks  you,  you  can  just  tell  him  I  know 
how,  all  right." 

"Why,  you  can't  do  anything,"  Sam  began  argu- 
mentatively.  "You  talk  about  being  a  show  all  by 
yourself;  what  could  you  try  to  do?  Show  us  sump- 
thing  you  can  do." 

"I  didn't  say  I  was  going  to  do  anything,"  re 
turned  the  badgered  one,  still  evading. 

"Well,  then,  how'd  you  be  a  show?"  Penrod  de 
manded.  "We  got  a  show  here,  even  if  Herman 
didn't  point  or  Verman  didn't  talk.  Their  father 
stabbed  a  man  with  a  pitchfork,  I  guess,  didn't 
he?" 

"How  do  /  know?" 

"Well,  I  guess  he's  in  jail,  ain't  he?" 

"Well,  what  if  their  father  is  in  jail?  I  didn't  say 
he  wasn't,  did  I?" 

"Well,  your  father  ain't  in  jail,  is  he?" 

"Well,  I  never  said  he  was,  did  I?" 

"Well,  then,"  continued  Penrod,  "how  could  you 
be  a "  He  stopped  abruptly,  staring  at  Rod 
erick,  the  birth  of  an  idea  plainly  visible  in  his 
altered  expression.  He  had  suddenly  remembered 
his  intention  to  ask  Roderick  Magsworth  Bitts, 
Junior,  about  Rena  Magsworth,  and  this  recollec 
tion  collided  in  his  mind  with  the  irritation  produced 
by  Roderick's  claiming  some  mysterious  attainment 
which  would  warrant  his  setting  up  as  a  shov/  in  his 


144  PENROD 

single  person.  Penrod's  whole  manner  changed  in 
stantly. 

"Roddy,"  he  asked,  almost  overwhelmed  by  a  pre 
science  of  something  vast  and  magnificent,  "Roddy, 
are  you  any  relation  of  Rena  Magsworth?" 

Roderick  had  never  heard  of  Rena  Magsworth, 
although  a  concentration  of  the  sentence  yesterday 
pronounced  upon  her  had  burned,  black  and  horrific, 
upon  the  face  of  every  newspaper  in  the  country. 
He  was  not  allowed  to  read  the  journals  of  the  day 
and  his  family's  indignation  over  the  sacrilegious 
coincidence  of  the  name  had  not  been  expressed  in 
his  presence.  But  he  saw  that  it  was  an  awesome 
name  to  Penrod  Schofield  and  Samuel  Williams. 
Even  Herman  and  Verman,  though  lacking  many 
educational  advantages  on  account  of  a  long  resi 
dence  in  the  country,  were  informed  on  the  subject 
of  Rena  Magsworth  through  hearsay,  and  they 
joined  in  the  portentous  silence. 

"Roddy,"  repeated  Penrod,  "honest,  is  Rena 
Magsworth  some  relation  of  yours?" 

There  is  no  obsession  more  dangerous  to  its  vic 
tims  than  a  conviction — especially  an  inherited  one 
*• — of  superiority :  this  world  is  so  full  of  Missourians. 
And  from  his  earliest  years  Roderick  Magsworth 
Bitts,  Junior,  had  been  trained  to  believe  in  the  im 
portance  of  the  Magsworth  family.  At  every  meal 
he  absorbed  a  sense  of  Magsworth  greatness,  and 
yet,  in  his  infrequent  meetings  with  persons  of  his 


THE  NEW  STAR  145 

own  age  and  sex,  he  was  treated  as  negligible.  Now, 
dimly,  he  perceived  that  there  was  a  Magsworth 
claim  of  some  sort  which  was  impressive,  even  to 
boys.  Magsworth  blood  was  the  essential  of  all  true 
distinction  in  the  world,  he  knew.  Consequently, 
having  been  driven  into  a  cul-de-sac,  as  a  result  of 
flagrant  and  unfounded  boasting,  he  was  ready  to 
take  advantage  of  what  appeared  to  be  a  triumphal 
way  out. 

"Roddy,"  said  Penrod  again,  with  solemnity,  "is 
Rena  Magsworth  some  relation  of  yours?" 

" Is  she,  Roddy?"  asked  Sam,  almost  hoarsely. 

"She's  my  aunt!"  shouted  Roddy. 

Silence  followed.  Sam  and  Penrod,  spellbound, 
gazed  upon  Roderick  Magsworth  Bitts,  Junior.  So 
did  Herman  and  Verman.  Roddy's  staggering  lie 
had  changed  the  face  of  things  utterly.  No  one 
questioned  it;  no  one  realized  that  it  was  much  too 
good  to  be  true. 

"Roddy,"  said  Penrod,  in  a  voice  tremulous  with 
hope,  "Roddy,  will  you  join  our  show?" 

Roddy  joined. 

Even  he  could  see  that  the  offer  implied  his  being 
starred  as  the  paramount  attraction  of  a  new  order 
of  things.  It  was  obvious  that  he  had  swelled  out 
suddenly,  in  the  estimation  of  the  other  boys,  to  that 
importance  which  he  had  been  taught  to  believe  his 
native  gift  and  natural  right.  The  sensation  was 
pleasant.  He  had  often  been  treated  with  effusion 


146  PENROD 

by  grown-up  callers  and  by  acquaintances  of  his 
mothers  and  sisters;  he  had  heard  ladies  speak  of 
him  as  "charming"  and  "that  delightful  child,"  and 
little  girls  had  sometimes  shown  him  deference,  but 
until  this  moment  no  boy  had  ever  allowed  him,  for 
one  moment,  to  presume  even  to  equality.  Now,  in 
a  trice,  he  was  not  only  admitted  to  comradeship, 
but  patently  valued  as  something  rare  and  sacred 
to  be  acclaimed  and  pedestalled.  In  fact,  the  very 
first  thing  that  Schofield  and  Williams  did  was  to 
find  a  box  for  him  to  stand  upon. 

The  misgivings  roused  in  Roderick's  bosom  by 
the  subsequent  activities  of  the  firm  were  not  bother 
some  enough  to  make  him  forego  his  prominence 
as  Exhibit  A.  He  was  not  a  "quick-minded"  boy, 
and  it  was  long  (and  much  happened)  before  he 
thoroughly  comprehended  the  causes  of  his  new 
celebrity.  He  had  a  shadowy  feeling  that  if  the 
affair  came  to  be  heard  of  at  home  it  might  not  be 
liked,  but,  intoxicated  by  the  glamour  and  bustle 
which  surround  a  public  character,  he  made  no  pro 
test.  On  the  contrary,  he  entered  whole-heartedly 
into  the  preparations  for  the  new  show.  Assuming, 
with  Sam's  assistance,  a  blue  moustache  and  "side 
burns,"  he  helped  in  the  painting  of  a  new  poster, 
which,  supplanting  the  old  one  on  the  wall  of  the 
stable  facing  the  cross-street,  screamed  bloody  mur 
der  at  the  passers  in  that  rather  populous  thorough 
fare. 


THE  NEW  STAR  147 

SCHoFiELD  &  WILLIAMS 
NEW  BIG  SHoW 

RODERICK  MAGSWORTH  BITTS  JR 
ONLY  LIVING  NEPHEW 

oF 

RENA  MAGSWORTH 
THE  FAMOS 

MUDERESS  GoiNG  To  BE  HUNG 
NEXT  JULY  KiLED  EIGHT  PEOPLE 
PUT  ARSiNECK  IN  THiER  MiLK  ALSO 
SHERMAN  HERMAN  AND  VERMAN 
THE  MiCHiGAN  RATS  DOG  PART 
ALLIGATOR  DUKE  THE  GENUINE 
InDiAN  DoG  ADMiSSioN  1  CENT  oR 
£0  PiNS  SAME  AS  BEFORE  Do  NoT 
MiSS  THIS  CHANSE  TO  SEE  RoD- 

ERiCK 

ONLY    LIVING    NEPHEW    oF    RENA 
MAGSWORTH   THE    GREAT   FAMOS 

MUDERESS 
GoiNG    To    BE 

HUNG 


CHAPTER  XVII 

RETIRING    FROM    THE    SHOW    BUSINESS 

MEGAPHONES  were  constructed  out  o* 
heavy  wrapping-paper,  and  Penrod,  Sam, 
and  Herman  set  out  in  different  direc 
tions,  delivering  vocally  the  inflammatory  proclama 
tion  of  the  poster  to  a  large  section  of  the  residential 
quarter,  and  leaving  Roderick  Magsworth  Bitts, 
Junior,  with  Verman  in  the  loft,  shielded  from  all 
deadhead  eyes.  Upon  the  return  of  the  heralds,  the 
Schofield  and  Williams  Military  Band  played  deaf- 
eningly,  and  an  awakened  public  once  more  thronged 
to  fill  the  coffers  of  the  firm. 

Prosperity  smiled  again.     The  very  first  audience 


RETIRING  FROM  BUSINESS         149 

after  the  acquisition  of  Roderick  was  larger  than  the 
largest  of  the  morning.  Master  Bitts — the  only 
exhibit  placed  upon  a  box — was  a  supercurio.  All 
eyes  fastened  upon  him  and  remained,  hungrily 
feasting,  throughout  Penrod's  luminous  oration. 

But  the  glory  of  one  light  must  ever  be  the  dim 
ming  of  another.  We  dwell  in  a  vale  of  seesaws — 
and  cobwebs  spin  fastest  upon  laurel.  Verman,  the 
tattooed  wild  boy,  speaking  only  in  his  native  foreign 
languages,  Verman  the  gay,  Verman  the  caperer, 
capered  no  more;  he  chuckled  no  more,  he  beckoned 
no  more,  nor  tapped  his  chest,  nor  wreathed  his 
idolatrous  face  in  smiles.  Gone,  all  gone,  were  his 
little  artifices  for  attracting  the  general  attention  to 
himself;  gone  was  every  engaging  mannerism  which 
had  endeared  him  to  the  mercurial  public.  He 
squatted  against  the  wall  and  glowered  at  the  new 
sensation.  It  was  the  old  story — the  old,  old  story 
of  too  much  temperament:  Verman  was  suffering 
from  artistic  jealousy. 

The  second  audience  contained  a  cash-paying 
adult,  a  spectacled  young  man  whose  poignant  at 
tention  was  very  flattering.  He  remained  after  the 
lecture,  and  put  a  few  questions  to  Roddy,  which 
were  answered  rather  confusedly  upon  promptings 
from  Penrod.  The  young  man  went  away  without 
having  stated  the  object  of  his  interrogations,  but  it 
became  quite  plain,  later  in  the  day.  This  same 
object  caused  the  spectacled  young  man  to  make 


150  PENROD 

several  brief  but  stimulating  calls  directly  after 
leaving  the  Schofield  and  Williams  Big  Show,  and 
the  consequences  thereof  loitered  not  by  the  wayside. 

The  Big  Show  was  at  high  tide.  Not  only  was  the 
auditorium  filled  and  throbbing;  there  was  an  in 
dubitable  line — by  no  means  wholly  juvenile — 
waiting  for  admission  to  the  next  pufformance.  A 
group  stood  in  the  street  examining  the  poster  ear 
nestly  as  it  glowed  in  the  long,  slanting  rays  of  the 
westward  sun,  and  people  in  automobiles  and  other 
vehicles  had  halted  wheel  in  the  street  to  read  the 
message  so  piquantly  given  to  the  world.  These 
were  the  conditions  when  a  crested  victoria  arrived 
at  a  gallop,  and  a  large,  chastely  magnificent  and 
highly  flushed  woman  descended,  and  progressed 
across  the  yard  with  an  air  of  violence. 

At  sight  of  her,  the  adults  of  the  waiting  line 
hastily  disappeared,  and  most  of  the  pausing  vehicles 
moved  instantly  on  their  way.  She  was  followed 
by  a  stricken  man  in  livery. 

The  stairs  to  the  auditorium  were  narrow  and 
steep;  Mrs.  Roderick  Magsworth  Bitts  was  of  a 
stout  favour;  and  the  voice  of  Penrod  was  audible 
during  the  ascent. 

"Re-mem-bur,  gentilmun  and  lay-deeze,  each  and 
all  are  now  gazing  upon  Roderick  Magsworth  Bitts, 
Junior,  the  only  living  nephew  of  the  great  Rena 
Magsworth.  She  stuck  ars'nic  in  the  milk  of  eight 
separate  and  distinck  people  to  put  in  their  coffee 


RETIRING  FROM  BUSINESS         151 

and  each  and  all  of  'em  died.  The  great  ars'nic 
murderess,  Rena  Magsworth,  gentilmun  and  lay- 
deeze,  and  Roddy's  her  only  living  nephew.  She's 
a  relation  of  all  the  Bitts  family,  but  he's  her  one 
and  only  living  nephew.  Re-m^m-bur !  Next  July 
she's  goin'  to  be  hung,  and,  each  and  all,  you  now 
see  before  you " 

Penrod  paused  abruptly,  seeing  something  before 
himself — the  august  and  awful  presence  which  filled 
the  entry  way.  And  his  words  (it  should  be  related) 
froze  upon  his  lips. 

Before  herself,  Mrs.  Roderick  Magsworth  Bitts 
saw  her  son — her  scion — wearing  a  moustache  and 
sideburns  of  blue,  and  perched  upon  a  box  flanked  by 
Sherman  and  Verman,  the  Michigan  rats,  the  Indian 
dog  Duke,  Herman,  and  the  dog  part  alligator. 

Roddy,  also,  saw  something  before  himself.  It 
needed  no  prophet  to  read  the  countenance  of  the 
dread  apparition  in  the  entryway.  His  mouth 
opened — remained  open — then  filled  to  capacity  with 
a  calamitous  sound  of  grief  not  unmingled  with  ap 
prehension. 

Penrod's  reason  staggered  under  the  crisis.  For  a 
horrible  moment  he  saw  Mrs.  Roderick  Magsworth 
Bitts  approaching  like  some  fatal  mountain  in  ava 
lanche.  She  seemed  to  grow  larger  and  redder; 
lightnings  played  about  her  head;  he  had  a  vague 
consciousness  of  the  audience  spraying  out  in  flight, 
of  the  squealings,  tramplings  and  dispersals  of  a 


152  PENROD 

stricken  field.  The  mountain  was  close  upon 
him 

He  stood  by  the  open  mouth  of  the  hay-chute 
which  went  through  the  floor  to  the  manger  below. 
Penrod  also  went  through  the  floor.  He  propelled 
himself  into  the  chute  and  shot  down,  but  not 
quite  to  the  manger,  for  Mr.  Samuel  Williams  had 
thoughtfully  stepped  into  the  chute  a  moment  in 
advance  of  his  partner.  Penrod  lit  upon  Sam. 

Catastrophic  noises  resounded  in  the  loft;  volca 
noes  seemed  to  romp  upon  the  stairway. 

There  ensued  a  period  when  only  a  shrill  keen 
ing  marked  the  passing  of  Roderick  as  he  was  borne 
to  the  tumbril.  Then  all  was  silence. 

.  .  .  Sunset,  striking  through  a  western  win 
dow,  rouged  the  walls  of  the  Schofields'  library, 
where  gathered  a  joint  family  council  and  court 
martial  of  four — Mrs.  Schofield,  Mr.  Schofield,  and 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Williams,  parents  of  Samuel  of  that 
ilk.  Mr.  Williams  read  aloud  a  conspicuous  passage 
from  the  last  edition  of  the  evening  paper: 

"Prominent  people  here  believed  close  relations 
of  woman  sentenced  to  hang.  Angry  denial  by  Mrs. 
R.  Magsworth  Bitts.  Relationship  admitted  by 
younger  member  of  family.  His  statement  confirmed 
by  boy-friends " 

"Don't !"  said  Mrs.  Williams,  addressing  her  hus 
band  vehemently.  "We've  all  read  it  a  dozen  times. 


RETIRING  FROM  BUSINESS         153 

We've  got  plenty  of  trouble  on  our  hands  without 
hearing  that  again!" 

Singularly  enough,  Mrs.  Williams  did  not  look 
troubled;  she  looked  as  if  she  were  trying  to  look 
troubled.  Mrs.  Schofield  wore  a  similar  expression. 
So  did  Mr.  Schofield.  So  did  Mr.  Williams. 

"What  did  she  say  when  she  called  you  up  ?"  Mrs. 
Schofield  inquired  breathlessly  of  Mrs.  Williams. 

"She  could  hardly  speak  at  first,  and  then  when 
she  did  talk,  she  talked  so  fast  I  couldn't  understand 
most  of  it,  and " 

"It  was  just  the  same  when  she  tried  to  talk  to 
me,"  said  Mrs.  Schofield,  nodding. 

"I  never  did  hear  any  one  in  such  a  state  before," 
continued  Mrs.  Williams.  "So  furious " 

"Quite  justly,  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Schofield. 

"Of  course.  And  she  said  Penrod  and  Sam  had 
enticed  Roderick  away  from  home — usually  he's  not 
allowed  to  go  outside  the  yard  except  with  his  tutor 
or  a  servant — and  had  told  him  to  say  that  horrible 
creature  was  his  aunt " 

"How  in  the  world  do  you  suppose  Sam  and  Pen- 
rod  ever  thought  of  such  a  thing  as  that!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Schofield.  "It  must  have  been  made  up  just 
for  their  'show.'  Delia  says  there  were  just  streams 
going  in  and  out  all  day.  Of  course  it  wouldn't 
have  happened,  but  this  was  the  day  Margaret  and 
I  spend  every  month  in  the  country  with  Aunt 
Sarah,  and  I  didn't  dream " 


154  PENROD 

"She  said  one  thing  I  thought  rather  tactless," 
interrupted  Mrs.  Williams.  "Of  course  we  must 
allow  for  her  being  dreadfully  excited  and  wrought 
up,  but  I  do  think  it  wasn't  quite  delicate  in  her, 
and  she's  usually  the  very  soul  of  delicacy.  She  said 
that  Roderick  had  never  been  allowed  to  associate 
with — common  boys " 

"Meaning  Sam  and  Penrod,"  said  Mrs.  Schofield. 
"Yes,  she  said  that  to  me,  too." 

"She  said  that  the  most  awful  thing  about  it,"  Mrs. 
Williams  went  on,  "was  that,  though  she's  going  to 
prosecute  the  newspapers,  many  people  would  always 
believe  the  story,  and " 

"Yes,  I  imagine  they  will,"  said  Mrs.  Schofield 
musingly.  "Of  course  you  and  I  and  everybody 
who  really  knows  the  Bitts  and  Magsworth  families 
understand  the  perfect  absurdity  of  it ;  but  I  suppose 
there  are  ever  so  many  who'll  believe  it,  no  matter 
what  the  Bittses  and  Magsworths  say." 

"Hundreds  and  hundreds!"  said  Mrs.  Williams. 
"I'm  afraid  it  will  be  a  great  come-down  for  them." 

"I'm  afraid  so,"  said  Mrs.  Schofield  gently.  "A 
very  great  one — yes,  a  very,  very  great  one." 

"Well,"  observed  Mrs.  Williams,  after  a  thought 
ful  pause,  "there's  only  one  thing  to  be  done,  and  I 
suppose  it  had  better  be  done  right  away." 

She  glanced  toward  the  two  gentlemen. 

"Certainly,"  Mr.  Schofield  agreed.  "But  where 
are  thev?M 


RETIRING  FROM  BUSINESS         155 

"Have  you  looked  in  the  stable?"  asked  his  wife. 

"I  searched  it.  They've  probably  started  for  the 
far  West." 

"Did  you  look  in  the  sawdust-box?" 

"No,  I  didn't." 

"Then  that's  where  they  are." 

Thus,  in  the  early  twilight,  the  now  historic  stable 
was  approached  by  two  fathers  charged  to  do  the 
only  thing  to  be  done.  They  entered  the  storeroom. 

"Penrod!"  said  Mr.   Schofield. 

"Sam!"  said  Mr.  Williams. 

Nothing  disturbed  the  twilight  hush. 

But  by  means  of  a  ladder,  brought  from  the 
carriage-house,  Mr.  Schofield  mounted  to  the  top  of 
the  sawdust-box.  He  looked  within,  and  discerned 
the  dim  outlines  of  three  quiet  figures,  the  third 
being  that  of  a  small  dog. 

The  two  boys  rose,  upon  command,  descended 
the  ladder  after  Mr.  Schofield,  bringing  Duke  with 
them,  and  stood  before  the  authors  of  their  being, 
who  bent  upon  them  sinister  and  threatening  brows. 
With  hanging  heads  and  despondent  countenances, 
each  still  ornamented  with  a  moustache  and  an  im 
perial,  Penrod  and  Sam  awaited  sentence. 

This  is  a  boy's  lot:  anything  he  does,  anything 
whatever,  may  afterward  turn  out  to  have  been  a 
crime — he  never  knows. 

And  punishment  and  clemency  are  alike  inex 
plicable. 


156  PENROD 

Mr.  Williams  took  his  son  by  the  ear. 

"You  march  home!"  he  commanded. 

Sam  marched,  not  looking  back,  and  his  father 
followed  the  small  figure  implacably. 

"You  goin'  to  whip  me?"  quavered  Penrod,  alone 
with  Justice. 

"Wash  your  face  at  that  hydrant,"  said  his  father 
sternly. 

About  fifteen  minutes  later,  Penrod,  hurriedly 
entering  the  corner  drug  store,  two  blocks  distant, 
was  astonished  to  perceive  a  familiar  form  at  the 
soda  counter. 

"Yay,  Penrod,"  said  Sam  Williams.  "Want  some 
sody?  Come  on.  He  didn't  lick  me.  He  didn't  do 
anything  to  me  at  all.  He  gave  me  a  quarter." 

"So'd  mine,"  said  Penrod. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

MUSIC 

BOYHOOD  is  the  longest  time  in  life— for  a 
boy.     The  last  term  of  the  school-year  is 
made  of  decades,  not  of  weeks,  and  living 
through  them  is  like  waiting  for  the  millennium. 
But  they  do  pass,  somehow,  and  at  last  there  came 
a  day  when  Penrod  was  one  of  a  group  that  capered 
out   from    the    gravelled    yard   of    "Ward    School, 
Nomber  Seventh,"  carolling  a  leave-taking  of  the 
institution,  of  their  instructress,  and  not  even  for 
getting  Mr.  Capps,  the  janitor. 

"Good-bye,  teacher !     Good-bye,  school ! 
Good-bye,  Cappsie^  dern  ole  fool!" 
2TT 


158  PENROD 

Penrod  sang  the  loudest.  For  every  boy,  there 
is  an  age  when  he  "finds  his  voice."  Penrod's  had 
not  "changed,"  but  he  had  found  it.  Inevitably  that 
thing  had  come  upon  his  family  and  the  neighbours ; 
and  his  father,  a  somewhat  dyspeptic  man,  quoted 
frequently  the  expressive  words  of  the  "Lady  of 
Shalott,"  but  there  were  others  whose  sufferings 
were  as  poignant. 

Vacation-time  warmed  the  young  of  the  world  to 
pleasant  languor ;  and  a  morning  came  that  was  like 
a  brightly  coloured  picture  in  a  child's  fairy  story. 
Miss  Margaret  Schofield,  reclining  in  a  hammock 
upon  the  front  porch,  was  beautiful  in  the  eyes  of  a 
newly  made  senior,  well  favoured  and  in  fair  raiment, 
beside  her.  A  guitar  rested  lightly  upon  his  knee, 
and  he  was  trying  to  play — a  matter  of  some  diffi 
culty,  as  the  floor  of  the  porch  also  seemed  inclined 
to  be  musical.  From  directly  under  his  feet  came 
a  voice  of  song,  shrill,  loud,  incredibly  piercing  and 
incredibly  flat,  dwelling  upon  each  syllable  with  in 
comprehensible  reluctance  to  leave  it. 

"I  have  lands  and  earthly  pow-wur. 
I'd  give  all  for  a  now-wur, 

Whi-ilst  setting  at  my-y-y  dear  old  mother's  knee-ee, 
So-o-o  rem-mem-bur  whilst  you're  young " 

Miss  Schofield  stamped  heartily  upon  the  musical 
floor. 

"It's  Penrod,"  she  explained.  "The  lattice  at  the 
end  of  the  porch  is  loose,  and  he  crawls  under  and 


MUSIC  159 

comes  out  all  bugs.  He's  been  having  a  dreadful 
singing  fit  lately — running  away  to  picture  shows 
and  vaudeville,  I  suppose." 

Mr.  Robert  Williams  looked  upon  her  yearningly. 
He  touched  a  thrilling  chord  on  his  guitar  and  leaned 
nearer.  "But  you  said  you  have  missed  me,"  he 
began.  I " 

The  voice  of  Penrod  drowned  all  other  sounds. 

"So-o-o  rem-mem-bur,  whi-i-ilst  you're  young, 
That  the  day-a-ys  to  you  will  come, 
When  you're  o-o-old  and  only  in  the  way, 
Do  not  scoff  at  them  bee-cause " 

"Penrod!"  Miss  Schofield  stamped  again. 

"You  did  say  you'd  missed  me,'*  said  Mr.  Rob 
ert  Williams,  seizing  hurriedly  upon  the  silence. 
"Didn't  you  say " 

A  livelier  tune  rose  upward. 

"Oh,  you  talk  about  your  fascinating  beauties, 

Of  your  dem-o-zells,  your  belles, 
But  the  littil  dame  I  met,  while  in  the  city, 

She's  par  excellaws  the  queen  of  all  the  swells. 
She's  sweeter  far " 

Margaret  rose  and  jumped  up  and  down  repeat 
edly  in  a  well-calculated  area,  whereupon  the  voice 
of  Penrod  cried  chokedly,  "Quit  that!"  and  there 
were  subterranean  coughings  and  sneezings. 

"You  want  to  choke  a  person  to  death?"  he  in 
quired  severely,  appearing  at  the  end  of  the  porch, 
a  cobweb  upon  his  brow.  And,  continuing,  he  put 


160  PENROD 

into  practice  a  newly  acquired  phrase,  "You  better 
learn  to  be  more  considerick  of  other  people's  com 
fort." 

Slowly  and  grievedly  he  withdrew,  passed  to  the 
sunny  side  of  the  house,  reclined  in  the  warm  grass 
beside  his  wistful  Duke,  and  presently  sang  again. 

"She's  sweeter  far  than  the  flower  I  named  her  after, 
And  the  memery  of  her  smile  it  haunts  me  YET  ! 

When  in  after  years  the  moon  is  soffly  beamun' 
And  at  eve  I  smell  the  smell  of  mignonette 

I  will  re-CALL  that " 

"Pen-rod/" 

Mr.  Schofield  appeared  at  an  open  window  up^ 
stairs,  a  book  in  his  hand. 

"Stop  it!"  he  commanded.  "Can't  I  stay  home 
with  a  headache  one  morning  from  the  office  without 
having  to  listen  to — I  never  did  hear  such  squawk 
ing!"  He  retired  from  the  window,  having  too  im 
pulsively  called  upon  his  Maker.  Penrod,  shocked 
and  injured,  entered  the  house,  but  presently  his 
voice  was  again  audible  as  far  as  the  front  porch. 
He  was  holding  converse  with  his  mother,  somewhere 
in  the  interior. 

"Well,  what  of  it?  Sam  Williams  told  me  his 
mother  said  if  Bob  ever  did  think  of  getting  married 
to  Margaret,  his  mother  said  she'd  like  to  know 
what  in  the  name  o'  goodness  they  expect  to " 

Bang!  Margaret  thought  it  better  to  close  the 
front  door. 


MUSIC  161 

The  next  minute  Penrod  opened  it.  "I  suppose 
you  want  the  whole  family  to  get  a  sunstroke,"  he 
said  reprovingly.  "Keepin'  every  breath  of  air  out 
o'  the  house  on  a  day  like  this !" 

And  he  sat  down  implacably  in  the  doorway. 

The  serious  poetry  of  all  languages  has  omitted 
the  little  brother;  and  yet  ho  is  one  of  the  great 
trials  of  love — the  immemorial  burden  of  courtship. 
Tragedy  should  have  found  place  for  him,  but  he 
has  been  left  to  the  haphazard  vignettist  of  Grub 
Street.  He  is  the  grave  and  real  menace  of  lovers; 
his  head  is  sacred  and  terrible,  his  power  illimitable. 
There  is  one  way — only  one — to  deal  with  him ;  but 
Robert  Williams,  having  a  brother  of  Penrod's  age, 
understood  that  way. 

Robert  had  one  dollar  in  the  world.  He  gave  it 
to  Penrod  immediately. 

Enslaved  forever,  the  new  Rockefeller  rose  and 
went  forth  upon  the  highway,  an  overflowing  heart 
bursting  the  floodgates  of  song. 

"In  her  eyes  the  light  of  love  was  soffly  gleamun', 
So  sweetlay. 
So  neatlay. 
On  the  banks  the  moon's  soff  light  was  brightly 

streamun', 

Words  of  love  I  then  spoke  to  her. 
She  was  purest  of  the  pew-er: 
'Littil  sweetheart,  do  not  sigh, 
Do  not  weep  and  do  not  cry. 
I  will  build  a  littil  cottige  just  for  yew-ew-EW  and  I.'  " 


162  PENROD 

In  fairness,  it  must  be  called  to  mind  that  boys 
older  than  Penrod  have  these  wellings  of  pent  mel 
ody;  a  wife  can  never  tell  when  she  is  to  undergo 
a  musical  morning,  and  even  the  golden  wedding 
brings  her  no  security,  a  man  of  ninety  is  liable  to 
bust-loose  in  song,  any  time. 

Invalids  murmured  pitifully  as  Penrod  came 
within  hearing;  and  people  trying  to  think  cursed 
the  day  that  they  were  born,  when  he  went  shrilling 
by.  His  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  shining  face  up 
lifted  to  the  sky  of  June,  he  passed  down  the  street, 
singing  his  way  into  the  heart's  deepest  hatred  of  all 
who  heard  him. 

"One  evuning  I  was  sturow-ling 

Midst  the  city  of  the  Dead, 
I  viewed  where  all  a-round  me 

Their  peace-full  graves  was  SPREAD. 
But  that  which  touched  me  mostlay " 

He  had  reached  his  journey's  end,  a  junk-dealer's 
shop  wherein  lay  the  long-desired  treasure  of  his  soul 
— an  accordion  which  might  have  possessed  a  high 
quality  of  interest  for  an  antiquarian,  being  unques 
tionably  a  ruin,  beautiful  in  decay,  and  quite  beyond 
the  sacrilegious  reach  of  the  restorer.  But  it  was 
still  able  to  disgorge  sounds — loud,  strange,  com 
pelling  sounds,  which  could  be  heard  for  a  remark 
able  distance  in  all  directions;  and  it  had  one  rich 
calf-like  tone  that  had  gone  to  Penrod's  heart.  He 
obtained  the  instrument  for  twenty-two  cents,  a 


MUSIC  163 

price  long  since  agreed  upon  with  the  junk-dealer, 
who  falsely  claimed  a  loss  of  profit,  Shylock  that  he 
was!  He  had  found  the  wreck  in  an  alley. 

With  this  purchase  suspended  from  his  shoulder 
by  a  faded  green  cord,  Penrod  set  out  in  a  somewhat 
homeward  direction,  but  not  by  the  route  he  had 
just  travelled,  though  his  motive  for  the  change  was 
not  humanitarian.  It  was  his  desire  to  display  him 
self  thus  troubadouring  to  the  gaze  of  Marjorie 
Jones.  Heralding  his  advance  by  continuous  experi 
ments  in  the  music  of  the  future,  he  pranced  upon  his 
blithesome  way,  the  faithful  Duke  at  his  heels.  (It 
was  easier  for  Duke  than  it  would  have  been  for  a 
younger  dog,  because,  with  advancing  age,  he  had 
begun  to  grow  a  little  deaf.) 

Turning  the  corner  nearest  to  the  glamoured 
mansion  of  the  Joneses,  the  boy  jongleur  came  sud 
denly  face  to  face  with  Marjorie,  and,  in  the  delicious 
surprise  of  the  encounter,  ceased  to  play,  his  hands, 
in  agitation,  falling  from  the  instrument. 

Bareheaded,  the  sunshine  glorious  upon  her  amber 
curls,  Marjorie  was  strolling  hand-in-hand  with  her 
baby  brother,  Mitchell,  four  years  old.  She  wore 
pink  that  day — unforgettable  pink,  with  a  broad, 
black  patent-leather  belt,  shimmering  reflections 
dancing  upon  its  surface.  How  beautiful  she  was! 
How  sacred  the  sweet  little  baby  brother,  whose 
privilege  it  was  to  cling  to  that  small  hand,  delicately 
powdered  with  freckles. 


164  PENROD 

"Hello,  Marjorie,"  said  Penrod,  affecting  care 
lessness. 

"Hello!"  said  Marjorie,  with  unexpected  cor 
diality.  She  bent  over  her  baby  brother  with 
motherly  affectations.  "Say  'howdy'  to  the  genty- 
muns,  Mitchy-Mitch,"  she  urged  sweetly,  turning 
him  to  face  Penrod. 

"Won't!"  said  Mitchy-Mitch,  and,  to  emphasize 
his  refusal,  kicked  the  gentymuns  upon  the  shin. 

Penrod's  feelings  underwent  instant  change,  and 
in  the  sole  occupation  of  disliking  Mitchy-Mitch, 
he  wasted  precious  seconds  which  might  have  been 
better  employed  in  philosophic  consideration  of  the 
startling  example,  just  afforded,  of  how  a  given  law 
operates  throughout  the  universe  in  precisely  the 
•same  manner  perpetually.  Mr.  Robert  Williams 
would  have  understood  this,  easily. 

"Oh,  oh!"  Marjorie  cried,  and  put  Mitchy-Mitch 
behind  her  with  too  much  sweetness.  "Maurice 
Levy's  gone  to  Atlantic  City  with  his  mamma,"  she 
remarked  conversationally,  as  if  the  kicking  incident 
were  quite  rlosed. 

"That's  nothin',"  returned  Penrod,  keeping  his 
eye  uneasily  upon  Mitchy-Mitch.  "I  know  plenty 
people  been  better  places  than  that — Chicago  and 
everywhere." 

There  was  unconscious  ingratitude  in  his  low 
rating  of  Atlantic  City,  for  it  was  largely  to  the  at 
tractions  of  that  resort  he  owed  Miss  Jones'  present 


MUSIC  165 

attitude  of  friendliness.  Of  course,  too,  she  was 
curious  about  the  accordion.  It  would  be  dastardly 
to  hint  that  she  had  noticed  a  paper  bag  which 
bulged  the  pocket  of  Penrod's  coat,  and  yet  this  bag 
was  undeniably  conspicuous — "and  children  are  very 
like  grown  people  sometimes!" 

Penrod  brought  forth  the  bag,  purchased  on  the 
way  at  a  drug  store,  and  till  this  moment  unopened, 
which  expresses  in  a  word  the  depth  of  his  sentiment 
for  Marjorie.  It  contained  an  abundant  fifteen- 
cents'  worth  of  lemon  drops,  jaw-breakers,  licorice 
sticks,  cinnamon  drops,  and  shopworn  choclate 
creams. 

"Take  all  you  want,"  he  said,  with  off-hand 
generosity. 

"Why,  Penrod  Schofield,"  exclaimed  the  wholly 
thawed  damsel,  "you  nice  boy!" 

"Oh,  that's  nothin',"  he  returned  airily.  "I  got 
a  good  deal  of  money,  nowadays." 

"Where  from?" 

"Oh — just  around."  With  a  cautious  gesture  he 
offered  a  j  aw-breaker  to  Mitchy-Mitch,  who  snatched 
it  indignantly  and  set  about  its  absorption  without 
delay. 

"Can  you  play  on  that?"  asked  Marjorie,  with 
some  difficulty,  her  cheeks  being  rather  too  hilly  foi 
((Conversation. 

"Want  to  hear  me?" 

She  nodded,  her  eyes  sweet  with  anticipation. 


166  PENROD 

This  was  what  he  had  come  for.  He  threw  bad 
his  head,  lifted  his  eyes  dreamily,  as  he  had  seen 
real  musicians  lift  theirs,  and  distended  the  accordion 
preparing  to  produce  the  wonderful  calf-like  noise 
which  was  the  instrument's  great  charm.  But  the 
distention  evoked  a  long  wail  which  was  at  once 
drowned  in  another  one. 

"Ow!  Owowaoh!  Wowohah!  Waowwow/" 
shrieked  Mitchy-Mitch  and  the  accordion  together. 

Mitchy-Mitch,  to  emphasize  his  disapproval  of 
the  accordion,  opening  his  mouth  still  wider,  lost 
therefrom  the  jaw-breaker,  which  rolled  in  the  dust 
Weeping,  he  stooped  to  retrieve  it,  and  Marjorie, 
to  prevent  him,  hastily  set  her  foot  upon  it.  Pen- 
rod  offered  another  jaw-breaker;  but  Mitchy-Mitch 
struck  it  from  his  hand,  desiring  the  former,  which 
had  convinced  him  of  its  sweetness. 

Marjorie  moved  inadvertently ;  whereupon  Mitchy- 
Mitch  pounced  upon  the  remains  of  his  jaw-breaker 
and  restored  them,  with  accretions,  to  his  mouth. 
His  sister,  uttering  a  cry  of  horror,  sprang  to  the 
rescue,  assisted  by  Penrod,  whom  she  prevailed  upon 
to  hold  Mitchy-Mitch's  mouth  open  while  she  exca 
vated.  This  operation  being  completed,  and  Pen- 
rod's  right  thumb  severely  bitten,  Mitchy-Mitch 
closed  his  eyes  tightly,  stamped,  squealed,  bellowed, 
wrung  his  hands,  and  then,  unexpectedly,  kicked 
Penrod  again. 

Penrod  put  a  hand  in  his  pocket  and  drew  forth  a 


MUSIC  167 

copper  two-cent  piece,  large,  round,  and  fairly 
bright. 

He  gave  it  to  Mitchy-Mitch. 

Mitchy-Mitch  immediately  stopped  crying  and 
gazed  upon  his  benefactor  with  the  eyes  of  a  dog. 

This  world! 

Thereafter  did  Penrod — with  complete  approval 
from  Mitchy-Mitch — play  the  accordion  for  his  lady 
to  his  heart's  content,  and  hers.  Never  had  he  so 
won  upon  her ;  never  had  she  let  him  feel  so  close  to 
her  before.  They  strolled  up  and  down  upon  the  side 
walk,  eating,  one  thought  between  them,  and  soon 
she  had  learned  to  play  the  accordion  almost  as  well 
as  he.  So  passed  a  happy  hour,  which  the  Good 
King  Rene  of  Anjou  would  have  envied  them,  while 
Mitchy-Mitch  made  friends  with  Duke,  romped  about 
his  sister  and  her  swain,  and  clung  to  the  hand  of 
the  latter,  at  intervals,  with  fondest  affection  and 
trust. 

The  noon  whistles  failed  to  disturb  this  little 
Arcady ;  only  the  sound  of  Mrs.  Jones'  voice — for  the 
third  time  summoning  Marjorie  and  Mitchy-Mitch 
to  lunch — sent  Penrod  on  his  way. 

"I  could  come  back  this  afternoon,  I  guess,"  he 
said,  in  parting. 

"I'm  not  goin'  to  be  here.  I'm  goin'  to  Baby 
Rennsdale's  party." 

Penrod  looked  blank,  as  she  intended  he  should. 
Having  thus  satisfied  herself,  she  added : 


Never  had  he  so  won  upon  her;  never  had  she  let  him  feel 

so  close   to  her  before 

168 


MUSIC  169 

"There  aren't  goin'  to  be  any  boys  there." 

He  was  instantly  radiant  again. 

"Mar  j  orie " 

"Hum?" 

"Do  you  wish  I  was  goin'  to  be  there?" 

She  looked  shy,  and  turned  away  her  head. 

"Marjorie  Jones!"  (This  was  a  voice  from  home.) 
"How  many  more  times  shall  I  have  to  call  you?" 

Marjorie  moved  away,  her  face  still  hidden  from 
Penrod. 

"Do  you?"  he  urged. 

At  the  gate,  she  turned  quickly  toward  him,  and 
said  over  her  shoulder,  all  in  a  breath :  "Yes !  Come 
again  to-morrow  morning  and  I'll  be  on  the  corner. 
Bring  your  'cordion!" 

And  she  ran  into  the  house,  Mitchy-Mitch  waving 
a  loving  hand  to  the  boy  on  the  sidewalk  until  the 
front  door  closed. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE    INNER    BOY 

PENROD  went  home  in  splendour,  pretend 
ing  that  he  and  Duke  were  a  long  proces 
sion  ;  and  he  made  enough  noise  to  render 
the  auricular  part  of  the  illusion  perfect.     His  own 
family   were   already    at   the   lunch-table  when   he 
arrived,  and  the  parade  halted  only  at  the  door  of 
the  dining-room. 

"Oh  Something!"  shouted  Mr.  Schofield,  clasp 
ing  his  bilious  brow  with  both  hands.  "Stop  that 
noise!  Isn't  it  awful  enough  for  you  to  sing 9  Sit 
down!  Not  with  that  thing  on!  Take  that  green 
rope  off  your  shoulder!  Now  take  that  thing  out 

170 


THE  INNER  BOY  171 

of  the  dining-room  and  throw  it  in  the  ash-can! 
Where  did  you  get  it?" 

"Where  did  I  get  what,  papa?"  asked  Penrod 
meekly,  depositing  the  accordion  in  the  hall  just 
,  outside  the  dining-room  door. 

"That  da — that  third-hand  concertina." 

"It's  a  'cordian,"  said  Penrod,  taking  his  place 
at  the  table,  and  noticing  that  both  Margaret  and 
Mr.  Robert  Williams  (who  happened  to  be  a  guest) 
were  growing  red. 

"I  don't  care  what  you  call  it,"  said  Mr.  Scho- 
field  irritably.  "I  want  to  know  where  you  got 
it." 

Penrod's  eyes  met  Margaret's :  hers  had  a  strained 
expression.  She  very  slightly  shook  her  head.  Pen- 
rod  sent  Mr.  Williams  a  grateful  look,  and  might 
have  been  startled  if  he  could  have  seen  himself  in 
a  mirror  at  that  moment;  for  he  regarded  Mitchy- 
Mitch  with  concealed  but  vigorous  aversion,  and  the 
resemblance  would  have  horrified  him. 

"A  man  gave  it  to  me,"  he  answered  gently,  and 
was  rewarded  by  the  visibly  regained  ease  of  his 
patron's  manner,  while  Margaret  leaned  back  in 
her  chair  and  looked  at  her  brother  with  real  de 
votion. 

"I  should  think  he'd  have  been  glad  to,"  said  Mr. 
Schofield.  "Who  was  he?" 

"Sir?"  In  spite  of  the  candy  which  he  had  con 
sumed  in  company  with  Marjorie  and  Mitchy* 


172  PENROD 

Mitch,  Penrod  had  begun  to  eat  lobster  croquettes 
earnestly. 

"Who  was  he?" 

"Who  do  you  mean,  papa?" 

"The  man  that  gave  you  that  ghastly  Thing!" 

"Yessir.     A  man  gave  it  to  me." 

"I  say,  Who  was  he?"  shouted  Mr.  Schofield. 

"Well,  I  was  just  walking  along,  and  the  man 
came  up  to  me — it  was  right  down  in  front  of  Col 
gate's,  where  most  of  the  paint's  rubbed  off  the 
fence " 

"Penrod!"  The  father  used  his  most  dangerous 
tone. 

"Sir?" 

"Who  was  the  man  that  gave  you  the  concertina?" 

"I  don't  know.     I  was  walking  along " 

"You  never  saw  him  before?" 

"No,  sir.     I  was  just  walk " 

"That  will  do,"  said  Mr.  Schofield,  rising.  "I 
suppose  every  family  has  its  secret  enemies  and  this 
was  one  of  ours.  I  must  ask  to  be  excused!" 

With  that,  he  went  out  crossly,  stopping  in  the 
hall  a  moment  before  passing  beyond  hearing.  And, 
after  lunch,  Penrod  sought  in  vain  for  his  accordion ; 
he  even  searched  the  library  where  his  father  sat 
reading,  though,  upon  inquiry,  Penrod  explained 
that  he  was  looking  for  a  misplaced  schoolbook.  He 
thought  he  ought  to  study  a  little  every  day,  he  said, 
even  during  vacation-time.  Much  pleased,  Mr.  Scho- 


THE  INNER  BOY  173 

field  rose  and  joined  the  search,  finding  the  missing 
work  on  mathematics  with  singular  ease — which  cost 
him  precisely  the  price  of  the  book  the  following 
September. 

Penrod  departed  to  study  in  the  backyard.  There, 
after  a  cautious  survey  of  the  neighbourhood,  he 
managed  to  dislodge  the  iron  cover  of  the  cistern, 
and  dropped  the  arithmetic  within.  A  fine  splash 
rewarded  his  listening  ear.  Thus  assured  that  when 
he  looked  for  that  book  again  no  one  would  find  it 
for  him,  he  replaced  the  cover,  and  betook  himself 
pensively  to  the  highway,  discouraging  Duke  from 
following  by  repeated  volleys  of  stones,  some  imagi 
nary  and  others  all  too  real. 

Distant  strains  of  brazen  horns  and  the  throbbing 
of  drums  were  borne  to  him  upon  the  kind  breeze, 
reminding  him  that  the  world  was  made  for  joy,  and 
that  the  Barzee  and  Potter  Dog  and  Pony  Show  was 
exhibiting  in  a  banlieue  not  far  away.  So,  thither 
he  bent  his  steps — the  plentiful  funds  in  his  pocket 
burning  hot  holes  all  the  way.  He  had  paid  twenty- 
two  cents  for  the  accordion,  and  fifteen  for  candy; 
he  had  bought  the  mercenary  heart  of  Mitchy-Mitch 
for  two:  it  certainly  follows  that  there  remained  to 
him  of  his  dollar,  sixty-one  cents — a  fair  fortune, 
and  most  unusual. 

Arrived  upon  the  populous  and  festive  scene  of  the 
Dog  and  Pony  Show,  he  first  turned  his  attention 
to  the  brightly  decorated  booths  which  surrounded 


'174  PENROD 

the  tent.  The  cries  of  the  peanut  vendors,  of  the 
popcorn  men,  of  the  toy-balloon  sellers,  the  stirring 
music  of  the  band,  playing  before  the  performance 
to  attract  a  crowd,  the  shouting  of  excited  children 
and  the  barking  of  the  dogs  within  the  tent,  all 
sounded  exhilaratingly  in  Penrod's  ears  and  set  his 
blood  a-tingle.  Nevertheless,  he  did  not  squander 
his  money  or  fling  it  to  the  winds  in  one  grand 
splurge.  Instead,  he  began  cautiously  with  the  pur 
chase  of  an  extraordinarily  large  pickle,  which  he 
obtained  from  an  aged  negress  for  his  odd  cent,  too 
obvious  a  bargain  to  be  missed.  At  an  adjacent 
stand  he  bought  a  glass  of  raspberry  lemonade  (so 
alleged)  and  sipped  it  as  he  ate  the  pickle.  He  left 
nothing  of  either. 

Next,  he  entered  a  small  restaurant-tent  and  for 
a  modest  nickel  was  supplied  with  a  fork  and  a  box 
of  sardines,  previously  opened,  it  is  true,  but  more 
than  half  full.  He  consumed  the  sardines  utterly, 
but  left  the  tin  box  and  the  fork,  after  which  he 
indulged  in  an  inexpensive  half-pint  of  lukewarm 
cider,  at  one  of  the  open  booths.  Mug  in  hand,  a 
gentle  glow  radiating  toward  his  surface  from  vari 
ous  centres  of  activity  deep  inside  him,  he  paused 
for  breath — and  the  cool,  sweet  cadences  of  the  water 
melon  man  fell  delectably  upon  his  ear : 

"Ice-cole  water-melon;  ice-cole  water-melon;  the 
biggest  slice  of  ice-cole,  ripe,  red,  ice-cole,  rich  an' 
rare;  the  biggest  slice  of  ice-cole  watermelon  ever 


THE  INNER  BOY  175 

cut  by  the  hand  of  man!  Buy  our  ice-cole  water 
melon?" 

Penrod,  having  drained  the  last  drop  of  cider, 
complied  with  the  watermelon  man's  luscious  en 
treaty,  and  received  a  round  slice  of  the  fruit,  mag 
nificent  in  circumference  and  something  over  an 
inch  in  thickness.  Leaving  only  the  really  danger 
ous  part  of  the  rind  behind  him,  he  wandered  away 
from  the  vicinity  of  the  watermelon  man  and  sup 
plied  himself  with  a  bag  of  peanuts,  which,  with  the 
expenditure  of  a  dime  for  admission,  left  a  quarter 
still  warm  in  his  pocket.  However,  he  managed  to 
"break"  the  coin  at  a  stand  inside  the  tent,  where 
a  large,  oblong  paper  box  of  popcorn  was  handed 
him,  with  twenty  cents  change.  The  box  was  too 
large  to  go  into  his  pocket,  but,  having  seated  him 
self  among  some  wistful  Polack  children,  he  placed 
it  in  his  lap  and  devoured  the  contents  at  leisure 
during  the  performance.  The  popcorn  was  heavily 
larded  with  partially  boiled  molasses,  and  Penrod 
sandwiched  mouthfuls  of  peanuts  with  gobs  of  this 
mass  until  the  peanuts  were  all  gone.  After  that, 
he  ate  with  less  avidity;  a  sense  almost  of  satiety 
beginning  to  manifest  itself  to  him,  and  it  was  not 
until  the  close  of  the  performance  that  he  disposed 
of  the  last  morsel. 

He  descended  a  little  heavily  to  the  outflowing 
crowd  in  the  arena,  and  bought  a  caterwauling  toy 
balloon,  but  showed  no  great  enthusiasm  in  manipu- 


176  PENROD 

lating  it.  Near  the  exit,  as  he  came  out,  was  a  hot- 
waffle  stand  which  he  had  overlooked,  and  a  sense 
of  duty  obliged  him  to  consume  the  three  waffles, 
thickly  powdered  with  sugar,  which  the  waffle  man 
cooked  for  him  upon  command. 

They  left  a  hottish  taste  in  his  mouth;  they  had 
not  been  quite  up  to  his  anticipation,  indeed,  and 
it  was  with  a  sense  of  relief  that  he  turned  to  the 
"hokey-pokey"  cart  which  stood  close  at  hand,  laden 
with  square  slabs  of  "Neapolitan  ice-cream"  wrapped 
in  paper.  He  thought  the  ice-cream  would  be  cool 
ing,  but  somehow  it  fell  short  of  the  desired  effect, 
and  left  a  peculiar  savour  in  his  throat. 

He  walked  away,  too  languid  to  blow  his  balloon, 
and  passed  a  fresh-taffy  booth  with  strange  indiffer 
ence.  A  bare-armed  man  was  manipulating  the 
taffy  over  a  hook,  pulling  a  great  white  mass  to  the 
desired  stage  of  "candying,"  but  Penrod  did  not 
pause  to  watch  the  operation;  in  fact,  he  averted 
his  eyes  (which  were  slightly  glazed)  in  passing. 
He  did  not  analyze  his  motives :  simply,  he  was  con 
scious  that  he  preferred  not  to  look  at  the  mass  of 
taffy. 

For  some  reason,  he  put  a  considerable  distance 
between  himself  and  the  taffy-stand,  but  before  long 
halted  in  the  presence  of  a  red-faced  man  who  flour 
ished  a  long  fork  over  a  small  cooking  apparatus 
and  shouted  jovially:  "Winnies!  Here's  your  hot 
winnies!  Hot  wmny-wurst!  Food  for  the  over- 


THE  INNER  BOY  177 

worked  brain,  nourishing  for  the  weak  stummick, 
entertaining  for  the  tired  business  man!  Here's 
your  hot  winnies,  three  for  a  nickel,  a  half-a-dime, 
the  twentieth-pot-of-a-dollah !" 

This,  above  all  nectar  and  ambrosia,  was  the 
favourite  dish  of  Penrod  Schofield.  Nothing  inside 
him  now  craved  it — on  the  contrary!  But  memory 
is  the  great  hypnotist ;  his  mind  argued  against  his  in 
wards  that  opportunity  knocked  at  his  door :  "winny- 
wurst"  was  rigidly  forbidden  by  the  home  authorities. 
Besides,  there  was  a  last  nickel  in  his  pocket;  and 
nature  protested  against  its  survival.  Also,  the  red- 
faced  man  had  himself  proclaimed  his  wares  nourish 
ing  for  the  weak  stummick. 

Penrod  placed  the  nickel  in  the  red  hand  of  the 
red-faced  man. 

He  ate  two  of  the  three  greasy,  cigarlike  shapes 
cordially  pressed  upon  him  in  return.  The  first  bite 
convinced  him  that  he  had  made  a  mistake;  these 
winnies  seemed  of  a  very  inferior  flavour,  almost 
unpleasant,  in  fact.  But  he  felt  obliged  to  conceal 
his  poor  opinion  of  them,  for  fear  of  offending  the 
red-faced  man.  He  ate  without  haste  or  eagerness 
— so  slowly,  indeed,  that  he  began  to  think  the  red- 
faced  man  might  dislike  him,  as  a  deterrent  of  trade. 
Perhaps  Penrod's  mind  was  not  working  well,  for 
he  failed  to  remember  that  no  law  compelled  him  to 
remain  under  the  eye  of  the  red-faced  man,  but  the 
virulent  repulsion  excited  by  his  attempt  to  take  a 


The  first  bite  convinced  him  that  he  had  made  a  mistake 


THE  INNER  BOY  179 

bite  of  the  third  sausage  inspired  him  with  at  least 
an  excuse  for  postponement. 

"Mighty  good,"  he  murmured  feebly,  placing  the 
sausage  in  the  pocket  of  his  jacket  with  a  shaking 
hand.  "Guess  I'll  save  this  one  to  eat  at  home,  after 
— after  dinner." 

He  moved  sluggishly  away,  wishing  he  had  not 
thought  rA  dinner.  A  side-show,  undiscovered  until 
now,  failed  to  arouse  his  interest,  not  even  exciting 
a  wish  that  he  had  known  of  its  existence  when  he 
had  money.  For  a  time  he  stared  without  compre 
hension  at  a  huge  canvas  poster  depicting  the  chief 
attraction;  the  weather-worn  colours  conveying  no 
meaning  to  his  torpid  eye.  Then,  little  by  little, 
the  poster  became  more  vivid  to  his  consciousness. 
There  was  a  greenish-tinted  person  in  the  tent,  it 
seemed,  who  thrived  upon  a  reptilian  diet. 

Suddenly,  Penrod  decided  that  it  was  time  to  go 
home. 


CHAPTER  XX 


i 


BROTHERS    OF    ANGELS 

NDEED,  doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Schofield,  with 
agitation  and  profound  conviction,  just  after 
eight  o'clock  that  evening,  "I  shall  always 
believe  in  mustard  plasters — mustard  plasters  and 
hot- water  bags.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  them  I  don't 
believed  he'd  have  lived  till  you  got  here —  I  do  not!" 
"Margaret,"  called  Mr.  Schofield  from  the  open 
door  of  a  bedroom,  "Margaret,  where  did  you  put 
that  aromatic  ammonia?  Where's  Margaret?" 

But  he  had  to  find  the  aromatic  spirits  of  am 
monia  himself,  for  Margaret  was  not  in  the  house. 
She  stood  in  the  shadow  beneath  £  maple  tree  near 

180 


BROTHERS  OF  ANGELS  181 

the  street  corner,  a  guitar-case  in  her  hand ;  and  she 
scanned  with  anxiety  a  briskly  approaching  figure. 
The  arc  light,  swinging  above,  revealed  this  figure 
as  that  of  him  she  awaited.  He  was  passing  toward 
the  gate  without  seeing  her,  when  she  arrested  him 
with  a  fateful  whisper. 

"Bob!" 

Mr.  Robert  Williams  swung  about  hastily.  "Why, 
Margaret !" 

"Here,  take  your  guitar,"  she  whispered  hur 
riedly.  "I  was  afraid  if  father  happened  to  find 
it  he'd  break  it  all  to  pieces!" 

"What  for?"  asked  the  startled  Robert. 

"Because  I'm  sure  he  knows  it's  yours." 

"But  what " 

"Oh,  Bob,"  she  moaned,  "I  was  waiting  here  to  tell 
you.  I  was  so  afraid  you'd  try  to  come  in — " 

"Try!"  exclaimed  the  unfortunate  young  man, 
quite  dumfounded.  "Try  to  come " 

"Yes,  before  I  warned  you.  I've  been  waiting 
here  to  tell  you,  Bob,  you  mustn't  come  near  the 
house — if  I  were  you  I'd  stay  away  from  even  this 
neighbourhood — far  away !  For  a  while  I  don't  think 
it  would  be  actually  safe  for " 

"Margaret,  will  you  please " 

"It's  all  on  account  of  that  dollar  you  gave  Penrod 
this  morning,"  she  wailed.  "First,  he  bought  that 
horrible  concertina  that  made  papa  so  furious " 

"But  Penrod  didn't  tell  that  I " 


182  PENROD 

"Oh,  wait!"  she  cried  lamentably.  "Listen!  He 
didn't  tell  at  lunch,  but  he  got  home  about  dinner 
time  in  the  most — well !  I've  seen  pale  people  before, 
but  nothing  like  Penrod.  Nobody  could  imagine  it 
— not  unless  they'd  seen  him!  And  he  looked  so 
strange,  and  kept  making  such  unnatural  faces,  and 
at  first  all  he  would  say  was  that  he'd  eaten  a  little 
piece  of  apple  and  thought  it  must  have  some  mi 
crobes  on  it.  But  he  got  sicker  and  sicker,  and  we 
put  him  to  bed — and  then  we  all  thought  he  was 
going  to  die — and,  of  course,  no  little  piece  of  apple 
would  have — well,  and  he  kept  getting  worse — and 
then  he  said  he'd  had  a  dollar.  He  said  he'd  spent 
it  for  the  concertina,  and  watermelon,  and  chocolate- 
creams,  and  licorice  sticks,  and  lemon-drops,  and  pea 
nuts,  and  jaw-breakers,  and  sardines,  and  raspberry 
lemonade,  and  pickles,  and  popcorn,  and  ice-cream, 
and  cider,  and  sausage — there  was  sausage  in  his 
pocket,  and  mamma  says  his  jacket  is  ruined — and 
cinnamon  drops — and  waffles — and  he  ate  four  or 
five  lobster  croquettes  at  lunch — and  papa  said, 
'Who  gave  you  that  dollar?'  Only  he  didn't  say 
'who9 — he  said  something  horrible,  Bob !  And  Pen- 
rod  thought  he  was  going  to  die,  and  he  said  you 
gave  it  to  him,  and  oh !  it  was  just  pitiful  to  hear  the 
poor  child,  Bob,  because  he  thought  he  was  dying, 
you  see,  and  he  blamed  you  for  the  whole  thing.  He 
said  if  you'd  only  let  him  alone  and  not  given  it  to 


BROTHERS  OF  ANGELS  183 

him,  he'd  have  grown  up  to  be  a  good  man — and 
now  he  couldn't !  I  never  heard  anything  so  heart 
rending — he  was  so  weak  he  could  hardly  whisper, 
but  he  kept  trying  to  talk,  telling  us  over  and  over 
it  was  all  your  fault." 

In  the  darkness  Mr.  Williams'  facial  expression 
could  not  be  seen,  but  his  voice  sounded  hopeful. 

"Is  he — is  he  still  in  a  great  deal  of  pain?" 

"They  say  the  crisis  is  past,"  said  Margaret,  "but 
the  doctor's  still  up  there.  He  said  it  was  the  acutest 
case  of  indigestion  he  had  ever  treated  in  the  whole 
course  of  his  professional  practice." 

"Of  course  I  didn't  know  what  he'd  do  with  the 
dollar,"  said  Robert. 

She  did  not  reply. 

He  began  plaintively,  "Margaret,  you  don't " 

"I've  never  seen  papa  and  mamma  so  upset  about 
anything,"  she  said,  rather  primly. 

"You  mean  they're  upset  about  me?'9 

"We  are  all  very  much  upset,"  returned  Margaret, 
more  starch  in  her  tone  as  she  remembered  not  only 
Penrod's  sufferings  but  a  duty  she  had  vowed  herself 
to  perform. 

"Margaret!     You  don't " 

"Robert,"  she  said  firmly  and,  also,  with  a  rhe 
torical  complexity  which  breeds  a  suspicion  of  pre- 
rehearsal — "Robert,  for  the  present  I  can  only  look 
at  it  in  one  way :  when  you  gave  that  money  to  Pen- 


184  PENROD 

rod  you  put  into  the  hands  of  an  unthinking  little 
child  a  weapon  which  might  be,  and,  indeed  was,  the 
means  of  his  undoing.  Boys  are  not  respon " 

"But  you  saw  me  give  him  the  dollar,  and  you 
didn't " 

"Robert!"  she  checked  him  with  increasing  sever 
ity.  "I  am  only  a  woman  and  not  accustomed  to 
thinking  everything  out  on  the  spur  of  the  mo 
ment;  but  I  cannot  change  my  mind.  Not  now,  at 
least." 

"And  you  think  I'd  better  not  come  in  to-night?" 

"To-night!"  she  gasped.  "Not  for  weeks!  Papa 
would " 

"But  Margaret,"  he  urged  plaintively,  "how  can 
jou  blame  me  for " 

"I  have  not  used  the  word  'blame,'  "  she  inter 
rupted.  "But  I  must  insist  that  for  your  careless 
ness  to — to  wreak  such  havoc — cannot  fail  to — to 
lessen  my  confidence  in  your  powers  of  judgment. 
I  cannot  change  my  convictions  in  this  matter — not 
to-night — and  I  cannot  remain  here  another  instant. 
The  poor  child  may  need  me.  Robert,  good-night." 

With  chill  dignity  she  withdrew,  entered  the  house, 
and  returned  to  the  sick-room,  leaving  the  young 
man  in  outer  darkness  to  brood  upon  his  crime — 
and  upon  Penrod* 

That  sincere  invalid  became  convalescent  upon 
the  third  day:  and  a  week  elapsed,  then,  before  he 


BROTHERS  OF  ANGELS  185 

found  an  opportunity  to  leave  the  house  unaccom 
panied — save  by  Duke.  But  at  last  he  set  forth 
and  approached  the  Jones  neighbourhood  in  high 
spirits,  pleasantly  conscious  of  his  pallor,  hollow 
cheeks,  and  other  perquisites  of  illness  provocative 
of  interest. 

One  thought  troubled  him  a  little  because  it  gave 
him  a  sense  of  inferiority  to  a  rival.  He  believed, 
against  his  will,  that  Maurice  Levy  could  have 
successfully  eaten  chocolate-creams,  licorice  sticks, 
lemon-drops,  jaw-breakers,  peanuts,  waffles,  lobster 
croquettes,  sardines,  cinnamon-drops,  watermelon, 
pickles,  popcorn,  ice-cream  and  sausage  with  rasp 
berry  lemonade  and  cider.  Penrod  had  admitted 
to  himself  that  Maurice  could  do  it  and  afterward 
attend  to  business,  or  pleasure,  without  the  slight 
est  discomfort;  and  this  was  probably  no  more  than 
a  fair  estimate  of  one  of  the  great  constitutions  of 
all  time.  As  a  digester,  Maurice  Levy  would  have 
disappointed  a  Borgia. 

Fortunately,  Maurice  was  still  at  Atlantic  City — 
and  now  the  convalescent's  heart  leaped.  In  the 
distance  he  saw  Marjorie  coming — in  pink  again, 
with  a  ravishing  little  parasol  over  her  head.  And 
alone!  No  Mitchy-Mitch  was  to  mar  this  meeting. 

Penrod  increased  the  feebleness  of  his  steps,  now 
and  then  leaning  upon  the  fence  as  if  for  support. 

"How  do  you  do,  Marjorie?"  he  said,  in  his  best 
sick-room  voice,  as  she  came  near. 


186  PENROD 

To  his  pained  amazement,  she  proceeded  on  her 
way,  her  nose  at  a  celebrated  elevation — an  icy  nose. 

She  cut  him  dead. 

He  threw  his  invalid's  airs  to  the  winds,  and  has 
tened  after  her. 

"Marjorie,"  he  pleaded,  "what's  the  matter?  Are 
you  mad?  Honest,  that  day  you  said  to  come  back 
next  morning,  and  you'd  be  on  the  corner,  I  was  sick. 
Honest,  I  was  awful  sick,  Marjorie!  I  had  to  have 
the  doctor " 

"Doctor!"  She  whirled  upon  him,  her  lovely  eyes 
blazing.  "I  guess  we've  had  to  have  the  doctor 
enough  at  our  house,  thanks  to  you,  Mister  Penrod 
Schofield.  Papa  says  you  haven't  got  near  sense 
enough  to  come  in  out  of  the  rain,  after  what  you 
did  to  poor  little  Mitchy-Mitch " 

"What?" 

"Yes,  and  he's  sick  in  bed  yet!"  Marjorie  went 
on,  with  unabated  fury.  "And  papa  says  if  he  ever 
catches  you  in  this  part  of  town " 

"What'd  I  do  to  Mitchy-Mitch?"  gasped  Penrod. 

"You  know  well  enough  what  you  did  to  Mitchy- 
Mitch!"  she  cried.  "You  gave  him  that  great,  big, 
nasty  two-cent  piece!" 

"Well,  what  of  it?" 

"Mitchy-Mitch  swallowed  it!" 

"What!" 

"And  papa  says  if  he  ever  just  lays  eyes  on  you, 
once,  in  this  neighbourhood " 


BROTHERS  OF  ANGELS  187 

But  Penrod  had  started  for  home. 

In  his  embittered  heart  there  was  increasing  a 
critical  disapproval  of  the  Creator's  methods.  When 
He  made  pretty  girls,  thought  Penrod,  why  couldn't 
He  have  left  out  their  little  brothers! 


CHAPTER  XXI 

RUPE    COLLINS 

FR  several  days  after  this,  Penrod  thought  of 
growing  up  to  be  a  monk,  and  engaged  in 
good  works  so  far  as  to  carry  some  kittens 
(that  otherwise  would  have  been  drowned)  and  a 
pair  of  Margaret's  outworn  dancing-slippers  to  a 
poor,  ungrateful  old  man  sojourning  in  a  shed  up 
the  alley.  And  although  Mr.  Robert  Williams,  after 
a  very  short  interval,  began  to  leave  his  guitar  on  the 
front  porch  again,  exactly  as  if  he  thought  nothing 
had  happened,  Penrod,  with  his  younger  vision  of 
a  father's  mood,  remained  coldly  distant  from  the 
Jones  neighbourhood.  With  his  own  family  his 

188 


RtJPE  COLLINS  189 

manner  was  gentle,  proud  and  sad,  but  not  for  long 
jnough  to  frighten  them.  The  change  came  with 
mystifying  abruptness  at  the  end  of  the  week. 

It  was  Duke  who  brought  it  about. 

Duke  could  chase  a  much  bigger  dog  out  of  the 
Schofields'  yard  and  far  down  the  street.  This 
might  be  thought  to  indicate  unusual  valour  on  the 
part  of  Duke  and  cowardice  on  that  of  the  bigger 
dogs  whom  he  undoubtedly  put  to  rout.  On  the  con 
trary,  all  such  flights  were  founded  in  mere  super 
stition,  for  dogs  are  even  more  superstitious  than 
boys  and  coloured  people;  and  the  most  firmly  es 
tablished  of  all  dog  superstitions  is  that  any  dog — be 
he  the  smallest  and  feeblest  in  the  world — can  whip 
any  trespasser  whatsoever. 

A  rat-terrier  believes  that  on  his  home  grounds  he 
can  whip  an  elephant.  It  follows,  of  course,  that  a 
big  dog,  away  from  his  own  home,  will  run  from  a 
little  dog  in  the  little  dog's  neighbourhood.  Other 
wise,  the  big  dog  must  face  a  charge  of  inconsistency, 
and  dogs  are  as  consistent  as  they  are  superstitious. 
A  dog  believes  in  war,  but  he  is  convinced  that  there 
are  times  when  it  is  moral  to  run ;  and  the  thought 
ful  physiognomist,  seeing  a  big  dog  fleeing  out  of  a 
little  dog's  yard,  must  observe  that  the  expression 
of  the  big  dog's  face  is  more  conscientious  than 
alarmed :  it  is  the  expression  of  a  person  performing 
a  duty  to  himself. 

Penrod   understood  these  matters   perfectly;  h* 


190  PENROD 

knew  that  the  gaunt  brown  hound  Duke  chased  up 
the  alley  had  fled  only  out  of  deference  to  a  custom, 
yet  Penrod  could  not  refrain  from  bragging  of  Duke 
to  the  hound's  owner,  a  fat-faced  stranger  of  twelve  or 
thirteen,  who  had  wandered  into  the  neighbourhood. 

"You  better  keep  that  ole  yellow  dog  o'  yours 
back,"  said  Penrod  ominously,  as  he  climbed  the 
fence.  "You  better  catch  him  and  hold  him  till  I 
get  mine  inside  the  yard  again.  Duke's  chewed  up 
some  pretty  bad  bulldogs  around  here." 

The  fat-faced  boy  gave  Penrod  a  fishy  stare. 
"You'd  oughta  learn  him  not  to  do  that,"  he  said. 
"It'll  make  him  sick." 

"What  will?" 

The  stranger  laughed  raspingly  and  gazed  up  the 
alley,  where  the  hound,  having  come  to  a  halt,  now 
coolly  sat  down,  and,  with  an  expression  of  roguish 
benevolence,  patronizingly  watched  the  tempered 
fury  of  Duke,  whose  assaults  and  barkings  were 
becoming  perfunctory. 

"What'll  make  Duke  sick?"  Penrod  demanded. 

"Eatin'  dead  bulldogs  people  leave  around  here." 

This  was  not  improvisation  but  formula,  adapted 
from  other  occasions  to  the  present  encounter ;  never 
theless,  it  was  new  to  Penrod,  and  he  was  so  taken 
with  it  that  resentment  lost  itself  in  admiration. 
Hastily  committing  the  gem  to  memory  for  use  upon 
a  dog-owning  friend,  he  inquired  in  a  sociable  tone: 

"What's  your  dog's  name?" 


RUPE  COLLINS  191 

"Dan.  You  better  call  your  ole  pup,  'cause  Dan 
eats  live  dogs." 

Dan's  actions  poorly  supported  his  master's  asser 
tion,  for,  upon  Duke's  ceasing  to  bark,  Dan  rose  and 
showed  the  most  courteous  interest  in  making  the 
little,  old  dog's  acquaintance.  Dan  had  a  great  dea  I 
of  manner,  and  it  became  plain  that  Duke  was  im 
pressed  favourably  in  spite  of  former  prejudice,  so 
that  presently  the  two  trotted  amicably  back  to  their 
masters  and  sat  down  with  the  harmonious  but  indif 
ferent  air  of  having  known  each  other  intimately 
for  years. 

They  were  received  without  comment,  though  both 
boys  looked  at  them  reflectively  for  a  time.  It  was 
Penrod  who  spoke  first. 

"What  number  you  go  to?"  (In  an  "oral  lesson 
in  English,"  Penrod  had  been  instructed  to  put  this 
question  in  another  form:  "May  I  ask  which  of  our 
public  schools  you  attend?") 

"Me?  What  number  do  I  go  to?"  said  the 
stranger,  contemptuously.  "I  don't  go  to  no  num 
ber  in  vacation!" 

"I  mean  when  it  ain't." 

"Third,"  returned  the  fat-faced  boy.  "I  got  'em 
all  scared  in  that  school." 

"What  of?"  innocently  asked  Penrod,  to  whom 
"the  Third" — in  a  distant  part  of  town — was  un 
discovered  country. 

"What  of?     I  guess  you'd  soon  see  what  of,  if 


192  PENROD 

you  ever  was  in  that  school  about  one  day.  You'd 
be  lucky  if  you  got  out  alive!" 

"Are  the  teachers  mean?" 

The  other  boy  frowned  with  bitter  scorn. 
"Teachers !  Teachers  don't  order  me  around,  I  can 
tell  you!  They're  mighty  careful  how  they  try  to 
run  over  Rupe  Collins." 

"Who's  Rupe  Collins?" 

"Who  is  he?"  echoed  the  fat-faced  boy  incredu 
lously.  "Say,  ain't  you  got  any  sense?" 

"What?" 

"Say,  wouldn't  you  be  just  as  happy  if  you  had 
some  sense?" 

"Ye-es."  Penrod's  answer,  like  the  look  he  lifted 
to  the  impressive  stranger,  was  meek  and  placative. 
"Rupe  Collins  is  the  principal  at  your  school,  I 
guess." 

The  other  yelled  with  jeering  laughter,  and 
mocked  Penrod's  manner  and  voice.  "  'Rupe  Collins 
is  the  principal  at  your  school,  I  guess !' "  He 
laughed  harshly  again,  then  suddenly  showed  trucu- 
lence.  "Say,  'bo,  whyn't  you  learn  enough  to  go 
in  the  house  when  it  rains?  What's  the  matter  of 
you,  anyhow?" 

"Well,"  urged  Penrod  timidly,  "nobody  ever  told 
me  who  Rupe  Collins  is :  I  got  a  right  to  think  he's 
the  principal,  haven't  I?" 

The  fat-faced  boy  shook  his  head  disgustedly. 
"Honest,  you  make  me  sick!" 


RUPE  COLLINS  193 

Penrod's  expression  became  one  of  despair. 
Well,  who  is  he?"  he  cried. 

"  'Who  is  he?'  "  mocked  the  other,  with  a  scorn 
that  withered.  "  'Who  is  he?'  ME!" 

"Oh!"  Penrod  was  humiliated  but  relieved:  he 
felt  that  he  had  proved  himself  criminally  ignorant, 
yet  a  peril  seemed  to  have  passed.  "Rupe  Collins 
is  your  name,  then,  I  guess.  I  kind  of  thought  it 
was,  all  the  time." 

The  fat-faced  boy  still  appeared  embittered,  bur 
lesquing  this  speech  in  a  hateful  falsetto.  "  'Rupe 
Collins  is  your  name,  then,  I  guess !'  Oh,  you  'kind 
of  thought  it  was,  all  the  time,'  did  you?"  Sud 
denly  concentrating  his  brow  into  a  histrionic  scowl 
he  thrust  his  face  within  an  inch  of  Penrod's.  "Yes, 
sonny,  Rupe  Collins  is  my  name,  and  you  better  look 
out  what  you  say  when  he's  around  or  you'll  get  in 
big  trouble!  You  understand  that,  9bo?" 

Penrod  was  cowed  but  fascinated:  he  felt  that 
there  was  something  dangerous  and  dashing  about 
this  newcomer. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  feebly,  drawing  back.  "My 
name's  Penrod  Schofield." 

"Then  I  reckon  your  father  and  mother  ain't  got 
good  sense,"  said  Mr.  Collins  promptly,  this  also 
being  formula. 

"Why?" 

"  'Cause  if  they  had  they'd  of  give  you  a  good 
name!"  And  the  agreeable  youth  instantly  re- 


194  PENROD 

warded  himself  for  the  wit  with  another  yell  of 
rasping  laughter,  after  which  he  pointed  suddenly 
at  Penrod's  right  hand. 

"Where'd  you  get  that  wart  on  your  finger?"  he 
'demanded  severely. 

"Which  finger?"  asked  the  mystified  Penrod,  ex 
tending  his  hand. 

"The  middle  one." 

"Where?" 

"There !"  exclaimed  Rupe  Collins,  seizing  and  vig 
orously  twisting  the  wartless  finger  naively  offered 
for  his  inspection. 

"Quit!"  shouted  Penrod  in  agony.     "Quee-yull" 

"Say  your  prayers !"  commanded  Rupe,  and  con 
tinued  to  twist  the  luckless  finger  until  Penrod 
writhed  to  his  knees. 

"Ow!"  The  victim,  released,  looked  grievously 
upon  the  still  painful  finger. 

At  this  Rupe's  scornful  expression  altered  to  one 
of  contrition.  "Well,  I  declare!"  he  exclaimed 
remorsefully.  "I  didn't  s'pose  it  would  hurt. 
Turn  about's  fair  play;  so  now  you  do  that  to 


me." 


He  extended  the  middle  finger  of  his  left  hand  and 
Penrod  promptly  seized  it,  but  did  not  twist  it,  for 
he  was  instantly  swung  round  with  his  back  to  his 
amiable  new  acquaintance:  Rupe's  right  hand  oper 
ated  upon  the  back  of  Penrod's  slender  neck  ,*  Rupe's 
knee  tortured  the  small  of  Penrod's  back. 


(Yes,  sonny,  Rupe  Collins  is  my  name,  and  you  better 
look  out  what  you  say  when  he's  around.'" 


196  PENROD 

"Ow!"  Penrod  bent  far  forward  involuntarily 
and  went  to  his  knees  again. 

"Lick  dirt,"  commanded  Rupe,  forcing  the  cap 
tive's  face  to  the  sidewalk ;  and  the  suffering  Penrod 
completed  this  ceremony. 

Mr.  Collins  evinced  satisfaction  by  means  of  his 
horse  laugh.  "You'd  last  jest  about  one  day  up  at 
the  Third!"  he  said.  "You'd  come  runnin'  home, 
yellin'  'Mom-muh,  raora-muh,'  before  recess  was 
over !" 

"No,  I  wouldn't,"  Penrod  protested  rather 
weakly,  dusting  his  knees. 

"You  would,  too !" 

"No,  I  w " 

"Looky  here,"  said  the  fat-faced  boy,  darkly, 
"what  you  mean,  counterdicking  me?" 

He  advanced  a  step  and  Penrod  hastily  qualified 
his  contradiction. 

"I  mean,  I  don't  think  I  would.     I " 

"You  better  look  out!"  Rupe  moved  closer,  and 
unexpectedly  grasped  the  back  of  Penrod's  neck 
again.  "Say,  'I  would  run  home  yellin'  "Mom- 
muh!"'" 

"Owl     I  would  run  home  yellin'   'Mom-muh."' 

"There!"  said  Rupe,  giving  the  helpless  nape  a 
final  squeeze.  "That's  the  way  we  do  up  at  the 
Third." 

Penrod  rubbed  his  neck  and  asked  meekly: 

"Can  you  do  that  to  any  boy  up  at  the  Third?" 


RUPE  COLLINS  197 

"See  here  now,"  said  Rupe,  in  the  tone  of  one 
goaded  beyond  all  endurance,  "you  say  if  I  can! 
You  better  say  it  quick,  or " 

"I  knew  you  could,"  Penrod  interposed  hastily, 
with  the  pathetic  semblance  of  a  laugh.  "I  only 
said  that  in  fun." 

"In  'fun' !"  repeated  Rupe  stormily.  "You  better 
look  out  how  you " 

"Well,  I  said  I  wasn't  in  earnest!"  Penrod  re 
treated  a  few  steps.  "7  knew  you  could,  all  the 
time.  I  expect  /  could  do  it  to  some  of  the  boys  up 
at  the  Third,  myself.  Couldn't  I  ?" 

"No,  you  couldn't." 

"Well,  there  must  be  some  boy  up  there  that  I 
could " 

"No,  they  ain't!     You  better " 

"I  expect  not,  then,"  said  Penrod,  quickly. 

"You  better  'expect  not.'  Didn't  I  tell  you  once 
you'd  never  get  back  alive  if  you  ever  tried  to  come 
up  around  the  Third?  You  want  me  to  show  you 
how  we  do  up  there,  'bo?" 

He  began  a  slow  and  deadly  advance,  whereupon 
Penrod  timidly  offered  a  diversion: 

"Say,  Rupe,  I  got  a  box  of  rats  in  our  stable  under 
a  glass  cover,  so  you  can  watch  'em  jump  around 
when  you  hammer  on  the  box.  Come  on  and  look 
at  'em." 

"All  right,"  said  the  fat-faced  boy,  slightly  molli 
fied.  "We'll  let  Dan  kill  'em." 


198  PENROD 

"No,  sir!  I'm  goin'  to  keep  'em.  They're  kind 
of  pets;  I've  had  'em  all  summer — I  got  names  for 
'em,  and " 

"Looky  here,  'bo.  Did  you  hear  me  say  we'll  let 
Dan  kill  'em?" 

"Yes,  but  I  won't " 

"What  won't  you?"  Rupe  became  sinister  im 
mediately.  "It  seems  to  me  you're  gettin'  pretty 
fresh  around  here." 

"Well,  I  don't  want " 

Mr.  Collins  once  more  brought  into  play  the 
dreadful  eye-to-eye  scowl  as  practised  "up  at  the 
Third,"  and,  sometimes,  also  by  young  leading  men 
upon  the  stage.  Frowning  appallingly,  and  thrust 
ing  forward  his  underlip,  he  placed  his  nose  almost 
in  contact  with  the  nose  of  Penrod,  whose  eyes  nat 
urally  became  crossed. 

"Dan  kills  the  rats.  See?"  hissed  the  fat-faced 
boy,  maintaining  the  horrible  juxtaposition. 

"Well,  all  right,"  said  Penrod,  swallowing.  "/ 
don't  want  'em  much."  And  when  the  pose  had 
been  relaxed,  he  stared  at  his  new  friend  for  a  mo 
ment,  almost  with  reverence.  Then  he  brightened. 

"Come  on,  Rupe!"  he  cried  enthusiastically,  as 
he  climbed  the  fence.  "We'll  give  our  dogs  a  little 
live  meat — 'bo!" 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE    IMITATOR 

A  THE   dinner-table,   that   evening,   Penrod 
surprised  his  family  by  remarking,  in  a  voice 
they  had  never  heard  him  attempt — a  law- 
giving  voice  of  intentional  gruffness: 

"Any  man  that's  makin'  a  hunderd  dollars  a 
month  is  makin'  good  money." 

"What?"  asked  Mr.  Schofield,  staring,  for  the 
previous  conversation  had  concerned  the  illness  of 
an  infant  relative  in  Council  Bluffs. 

"Any  man  that's  makin'  a  hunderd  dollars  a 
month  is  makin'  good  money." 

199 


200  PENROD 

"What  is  he  talking  about!"  Margaret  appealed 
to  the  invisible. 

"Well,"  said  Penrod,  frowning,  "that's  what  fore 
men  at  the  ladder  works  get." 

"How  in  the  world  do  you  know?"  asked  his 
mother. 

"Well,  I  know  it!  A  hunderd  dollars  a  month  is 
good  money,  I  tell  you!" 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  said  the  father,  impatiently. 

"Nothin'.     I  only  said  it  was  good  money." 

Mr.  Schofield  shook  his  head,  dismissing  the  sub 
ject;  and  here  he  made  a  mistake:  he  should  have 
followed  up  his  son's  singular  contribution  to  the  con 
versation.  That  would  have  revealed  the  fact  that 
there  was  a  certain  Rupe  Collins  whose  father  was  a 
foreman  at  the  ladder  works.  All  clues  are  impor 
tant  when  a  boy  makes  his  first  remark  in  a  new  key. 

"'Good  money'?"  repeated  Margaret,  curiously. 
"What  is  'good'  money?" 

Penrod  turned  upon  her  a  stern  glance.  "Say, 
wouldn't  you  be  just  as  happy  if  you  had  some 
sense?" 

"Penrod!"  shouted  his  father.  But  Penrod's 
mother  gazed  with  dismay  at  her  son:  he  had  never 
before  spoken  like  that  to  his  sister. 

Mrs.  Schofield  might  have  been  more  dismayed 
than  she  was,  if  she  had  realized  that  it  was  the 
beginning  of  an  epoch.  After  dinner,  Penrod  was 
slightly  scalded  in  the  back  as  the  result  of  telling 


THE  IMITATOR 

Delia,  the  cook,  that  there  was  a  wart  on  the  middle 
finger  of  her  right  hand.  Delia  thus  proving  poor 
material  for  his  new  manner  to  work  upon,  he  ap 
proached  Duke,  in  the  backyard,  and,  bending 
double,  seized  the  lowly  animal  by  the  forepaws. 

"I  let  you  know  my  name's  Penrod  Schofield," 
hissed  the  boy.  He  protruded  his  underlip  fero 
ciously,  scowled,  and  thrust  forward  his  head  until 
his  nose  touched  the  dog's.  "And  you  better  look 
out  when  Penrod  Schofield's  around,  or  you'll  get 
in  big  trouble!  You  understan9  that,  'bo?'9 

The  next  day,  and  the  next,  the  increasing  change 
in  Penrod  puzzled  and  distressed  his  family,  who  had 
no  idea  of  its  source.  How  might  they  guess  that 
hero-worship  takes  such  forms  ?  They  were  vaguely 
conscious  that  a  rather  shabby  boy,  not  of  the  neigh-, 
bourhood,  came  to  "play"  with  Penrod  several  times ; 
but  they  failed  to  connect  this  circumstance  with  the 
peculiar  behaviour  of  the  son  of  the  house,  whose 
ideals  (his  father  remarked)  seemed  to  have  suddenly 
become  identical  with  those  of  Gyp  the  Blood. 

Meanwhile,  for  Penrod  himself,  "life  had  taken  on 
new  meaning,  new  richness."  He  had  become  & 
fighting  man — in  conversation  at  least.  "Do  you 
want  to  know  how  I  do  when  they  try  to  slip  up  on 
me  from  behind?"  he  asked  Delia.  And  he  enacted 
for  her  unappreciative  eye  a  scene  of  fistic  manoeu 
vres  wherein  he  held  an  imaginary  antagonist  help 
less  in  a  net  of  stratagems- 


202  PENROD 

Frequently,  when  he  was  alone,  he  would  outwix 
and  pummel  this  same  enemy,  and,  after  a  cunning 
feint,  land  a  dolorous  stroke  full  upon  a  face  of  air. 
"There!  I  guess  you'll  know  better  next  time. 
That's  the  way  we  do  up  at  the  Third!" 

Sometimes,  in  solitary  pantomime,  he  encoun 
tered  more  than  one  opponent  at  a  time,  for  numbers 
were  apt  to  come  upon  him  treacherously,  especially 
at  a  little  after  his  rising  hour,  when  he  might  be 
caught  at  a  disadvantage — perhaps  standing  on  one 
leg  to  encase  the  other  in  his  knickerbockers.  Like 
lightning,  he  would  hurl  the  trapping  garment  from 
nim,  and,  ducking  and  pivoting,  deal  great  sweeping 
blows  among  the  circle  of  sneaking  devils.  (That 
was  how  he  broke  the  clock  in  his  bedroom.)  And 
while  these  battles  were  occupying  his  attention,  it 
vas  a  waste  of  voice  to  call  him  to  breakfast,  though 
i*  his  mother,  losing  patience,  came  to  his  room,  she 
would  find  him  seated  on  the  bed  pulling  at  a  stock 
ing.  "Well,  ain't  I  coming  fast  as  I  can?'9 

At  the  table  and  about  the  house  generally  he  was 
bumptious,  loud  with  fatuous  misinformation,  and 
assumed  a  domineering  tone,  which  neither  satire  nor 
reproof  seemed  able  to  reduce;  but  it  was  among 
his  own  intimates  that  his  new  superiority  was  most 
outrageous.  He  twisted  the  fingers  and  squeezed 
the  necks  of  all  the  boys  of  the  neighbourhood,  meet 
ing  their  indignation  with  a  hoarse  and  rasping  laugh 
he  had  acquired  after  short  practice  in  the  stable, 


THE  IMITATOR  203 

where  he  jeered  and  taunted  the  lawn-mower,  the 
garden-scythe  and  the  wheelbarrow  quite  out  of 
countenance. 

Likewise  he  bragged  to  the  other  boys  by  the 
hour,  Rupe  Collins  being  the  chief  subject  of  en 
comium — next  to  Penrod  himself.  "That's  the  way 
we  do  up  at  the  Third,"  became  staple  explanation 
of  violence,  for  Penrod,  like  Tartarin,  was  plastic 
in  the  hands  of  his  own  imagination,  and  at  times 
convinced  himself  that  he  really  was  one  of  those 
dark  and  murderous  spirits  exclusively  of  whom 
"the  Third"  was  composed — according  to  Rupe 
Collins. 

Then,  when  Penrod  had  exhausted  himself  repeat 
ing  to  nausea  accounts  of  the  prowess  of  himself  and 
his  great  friend,  he  would  turn  to  two  other  subjects 
for  vainglory.  These  were  his  father  and  Duke. 

Mothers  must  accept  the  fact  that  between  baby 
hood  and  manhood  their  sons  do  not  boast  of  them. 
The  boy,  with  boys,  is  a  Choctaw;  and  either  the 
influence  or  the  protection  of  women  is  shameful. 
"Your  mother  won't  let  you,"  is  an  insult.  But, 
"My  father  won't  let  me,"  is  a  dignified  explanation 
and  cannot  be  hooted.  A  boy  is  ruined  among  his 
fellows  if  he  talks  much  of  his  mother  or  sisters ;  and 
he  must  recognize  it  as  his  duty  to  offer  at  least  the 
appearance  of  persecution  to  all  things  ranked  as 
female,  such  as  cats  and  every  species  of  fowl.  But 
he  must  champion  his  father  and  his  dog,  and,  ever 


204  PENROD 

ready  to  pit  either  against  any  challenger,  must 
picture  both  as  ravening  for  battle  and  absolutely 
unconquerable. 

Penrod,  of  course,  had  always  talked  by  the  code, 
but,  under  the  new  stimulus,  Duke  was  represented 
virtually  as  a  cross  between  Bob,  Son  of  Battle,  and 
a  South  American  vampire ;  and  this  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  Duke  himself  often  sat  close  by,  a  living 
lie,  with  the  hope  of  peace  in  his  heart.  As  for 
Penrod's  father,  that  gladiator  was  painted  as  of 
sentiments  and  dimensions  suitable  to  a  super- 
demon  composed  of  equal  parts  of  Goliath,  Jack 
Johnson  and  the  Emperor  Nero. 

Even  Penrod's  walk  was  affected;  he  adopted  a 
gait  which  was  a  kind  of  taunting  swagger;  and, 
when  he  passed  other  children  on  the  street,  he  prac 
tised  the  habit  of  feinting  a  blow ;  then,  as  the  victim 
dodged,  he  rasped  the  triumphant  horse  laugh  which 
he  gradually  mastered  to  horrible  perfection.  He 
did  this  to  Marjorie  Jones — ay!  this  was  their  next 
meeting,  and  such  is  Eros,  young !  What  was  even 
worse,  in  Marjorie's  opinion,  he  went  on  his  way 
without  explanation,  and  left  her  standing  on  the 
corner  talking  about  it,  long  after  he  was  out  of 
hearing. 

Within  five  days  from  his  first  encounter  with 
Rupe  Collins,  Penrod  had  become  unbearable.  He 
even  almost  alienated  Sam  Williams,  who  for  a  time 
submitted  to  finger  twisting  and  neck  squeezing  and 


THE  IMITATOR  205 

the  new  style  of  conversation,  but  finally  declared 
that  Penrod  made  him  "sick."  He  made  the  state 
ment  with  fervour,  one  sultry  afternoon,  in  Mr. 
Schofield's  stable,  in  the  presence  of  Herman  and 
Verman. 

"You  better  look  out,  'bo,"  said  Penrod,  threat 
eningly.  "I'll  show  you  a  little  how  we  do  up  at 
the  Third." 

"Up  at  the  Third!"  Sam  repeated  with  scorn. 
"You  haven't  ever  been  up  there." 

"I  haven't?"  cried  Penrod.     "I  haven't?" 

"No,  you  haven't!" 

"Looky  here!"  Penrod,  darkly  argumentative^ 
prepared  to  perform  the  eye-to-eye  business. 
"When  haven't  I  been  up  there?" 

"You  haven't  never  been  up  there!"  In  spite  ot 
Penrod's  closely  approaching  nose  Sam  maintained 
his  ground,  and  appealed  for  confirmation.  "Has 
he,  Herman?" 

"I  don'  reckon  so,"  said  Herman,  laughing. 

"What!"  Penrod  transferred  his  nose  to  the 
immediate  vicinity  of  Herman's  nose.  "You  don't 
reckon  so,  'bo,  don't  you?  You  better  look  out  how 
you  reckon  around  here!  You  understari*  that, 


Herman  bore  the  eye-to-eye  very  well;  indeed,  it 
seemed  to  please  him,  for  he  continued  to  laugh 
while  Verman  chuckled  delightedly.  The  brothers 
had  been  in  the  country  picking  berries  for  a  week, 


206  PENROD 

and  it  happened  that  this  was  their  first  experience 
of  the  new  manifestation  of  Penrod. 

"Haven't  I  been  up  at  the  Third?"  the  sinister 
Penrod  demanded. 

"I  don'  reckon  so.     How  come  you  ast  me?" 

"Didn't  you  just  hear  me  say  I  been  up  there?" 

"Well,"  said  Herman  mischievously,  "hearin'  ain't 
believin' !" 

Penrod  clutched  him  by  the  back  of  the  neck,  but 
Herman,  laughing  loudly,  ducked  and  released  him 
self  at  once,  retreating  to  the  wall. 

"You  take  that  back!"  Penrod  shouted,  striking 
out  wildly. 

"Don'  git  mad,"  begged  the  small  darky,  while  a 
number  of  blows  falling  upon  his  warding  arms 
failed  to  abate  his  amusement,  and  a  sound  one  upon 
the  cheek  only  made  him  laugh  the  more  unrestrain 
edly.  He  behaved  exactly  as  if  Penrod  were  tickling 
him,  and  his  brother,  Verman,  rolled  with  joy  in  a 
wheelbarrow.  Penrod  pummelled  till  he  was  tired, 
and  produced  no  greater  effect. 

"There!"  he  panted,  desisting  finally.  "Now  I 
reckon  you  know  whether  I  been  up  there  or  not!" 

Herman  rubbed  his  smitten  cheek.  "Pow!"  he 
exclaimed.  "Pow-ee !  You  cert'ny  did  Ian'  me  good 
one  nat  time!  Oo-ee!  she  hurt!" 

"You'll  get  hurt  worse'n  that,"  Penrod  assured 
him,  "if  you  stay  around  here  much.  Rupe  Col 
lins  is  coimV  this  afternoon,  he  said.  We're  goin'' 


THE  IMITATOR  207 

to  make  some  policemen's  billies  out  of  the  rake 
handle." 

"You  go'  spoil  new  rake  you'  pa  bought?" 

"What  do  we  care?  I  and  Rupe  got  to  have  bil 
lies,  haven't  we?" 

"How  you  make  'em?" 

"Melt  lead  and  pour  in  a  hole  we're  goin'  to  make 
in  the  end  of  'em.  Then  we're  goin'  to  carry  'em 
in  our  pockets,  and  if  anybody  sajs  anything  to 
us — oh,  oh!  look  out!  They  won't  get  a  crack  on 
the  head — oh,  no!" 

"When's  Rupe  Collins  coming?"  Sam  Williams 
inquired  rather  uneasily.  He  had  heard  a  great  deal 
too  much  of  this  personage,  but  as  yet  the  pleasure 
of  actual  acquaintance  had  been  denied  him. 

"He's  liable  to  be  here  any  time,"  answered  Pen- 
rod.  "You  better  look  out.  You'll  be  lucky  if  you 
get  home  alive,  if  you  stay  till  he  comes." 

"I  ain't  afraid  of  him,"  Sam  returned,  conven 
tionally. 

"You  are,  too!"  (There  was  some  truth  in  the 
retort.)  "There  ain't  any  boy  in  this  part  of  town 
but  me  that  wouldn't  be  afraid  of  him.  You'd  be 
afraid  to  talk  to  him.  You  wouldn't  get  a  word  out 
of  your  mouth  before  old  Rupie'd  have  you  where 
you'd  wished  you  never  come  around  him,  lettin'  on 
like  you  was  so  much!  You  wouldn't  run  home 
yellin'  'Mom-muh'  or  nothin'!  Oh,  no!" 

"Who  Rupe  Collins?"  asked  Herman. 


208  PENROD 

"  'Who  Rupe  Collins?'  "  Penrod  mockedj  and  used 
his  rasping  laugh,  but,  instead  of  showing  fright, 
Herman  appeared  to  think  he  was  meant  to  laugh, 
too;  and  so  he  did,  echoed  by  Verman.  "You  just 
hang  around  here  a  little  while  longer,"  Penrod 
added,  grimly,  "and  you'll  find  out  who  Rupe  Col 
lins  is,  and  I  pity  you  when  you  do !" 

"What  he  go'  do?" 

"You'll  see;  that's  all!     You  just  wait  and " 

At  this  moment  a  brown  hound  ran  into  the  stable 
through  the  alley  door,  wagged  a  greeting  to  Pen- 
rod,  and  fraternized  with  Duke.  The  fat-faced  boy 
appeared  upon  the  threshold  and  gazed  coldly  about 
the  little  company  in  the  carriage-house,  whereupon 
the  coloured  brethren,  ceasing  from  merriment,  were 
instantly  impassive,  and  Sam  Williams  moved  a  little 
nearer  the  door  leading  into  the  yard. 

Obviously,  Sam  regarded  the  newcomer  as  a  re 
doubtable  if  not  ominous  figure.  He  was  a  head 
taller  than  either  Sam  or  Penrod ;  head  and  shoulders 
taller  than  Herman,  who  was  short  for  his  age;  and 
Verman  could  hardly  be  used  for  purposes  of  com 
parison  at  all,  being  a  mere  squat  brown  spot,  not 
yet  quite  nine  years  on  this  planet.  And  to  Sam's 
mind,  the  aspect  of  Mr.  Collins  realized  Penrod's 
portentous  foreshadowings.  Upon  the  fat  face  there 
was  an  expression  of  truculent  intolerance  which 
had  been  cultivated  by  careful  habit  to  such  perfec 
tion  that  Sam's  heart  sank  at  sight  of  it.  A  some- 


THE  IMITATOR  209 

what  enfeebled  twin  to  this  expression  had  of  late 
often  decorated  the  visage  of  Penrod,  and  appeared 
upon  that  ingenuous  surface  now,  as  he  advanced 
to  welcome  the  eminent  visitor. 

The  host  swaggered  toward  the  door  with  a  great 
deal  of  shoulder  movement,  carelessly  feinting  a  slap 
at  Verman  in  passing,  and  creating  by  various  means 
the  atmosphere  of  a  man  who  has  contemptuously 
amused  himself  with  underlings  while  awaiting  an 
equal. 

"Hello,  'bo!"  Penrod  said  in  the  deepest  voice 
possible  to  him. 

"Who  you  callin'  'bo?"  was  the  ungracious  re 
sponse,  accompanied  by  immediate  action  of  a  simi 
lar  nature.  Rupe  held  Penrod's  head  in  the  crook 
of  an  elbow  and  massaged  his  temples  with  a  hard- 
pressing  knuckle. 

"I  was  only  in  fun,  Rupie,"  pleaded  the  sufferer, 
and  then,  being  set  free,  "Come  here,  Sam,"  he  said. 

"What  for?" 

Penrod  laughed  pityingly.  "Pshaw,  I  ain't  goin' 
to  hurt  you.  Come  on."  Sam,  maintaining  his 
position  near  the  other  door,  Penrod  went  to  him 
and  caught  him  round  the  neck. 

"Watch  me,  Rupie!"  Penrod  called,  and  per 
formed  upon  Sam  the  knuckle  operation  which  he 
had  himself  just  undergone,  Sam  submitting  me 
chanically,  his  eyes  fixed  with  increasing  uneasiness 
upon  Rupe  Collins.  Sam  had  a  premonition  that 


210  PENROD 

something  even  more  painful  than  Penrod's  knuckle 
was  going  to  be  inflicted  upon  him. 

"That  don'  hurt,"  said  Penrod,  pushing  him  away. 

"Yes,  it  does,  too!"     Sam  rubbed  his  temple. 

"Puh!  It  didn't  hurt  me,  did  it,  Rupie?  Come 
on  in,  Rupe:  show  this  baby  where  he's  got  a  wart 
on  his  finger." 

"You  showed  me  that  trick,"  Sam  objected. 
"You  already  did  that  to  me.  You  tried  it  twice 
this  afternoon  and  I  don't  know  how  many  times 
before,  only  you  weren't  strong  enough  after  the 
first  time.  Anyway,  I  know  what  it  is,  and  I 
don't " 

"Come  on,  Rupe,"  said  Penrod.  "Make  the 
baby  lick  dirt." 

At  this  bidding,  Rupe  approached,  while  Sam, 
still  protesting,  moved  to  the  threshold  of  the  outer 
door;  but  Penrod  seized  him  by  the  shoulders  and 
swung  him  indoors  with  a  shout. 

"Little  baby  wants  to  run  home  to  its  Mom-muh! 
Here  he  is,  Rupie." 

Thereupon  was  Penrod's  treachery  to  an  old  com 
rade  properly  rewarded,  for  as  the  two  struggled, 
Rupe  caught  each  by  the  back  of  the  neck,  simul 
taneously,  and,  with  creditable  impartiality,  forced 
both  boys  to  their  knees. 

"Lick  dirt !"  he  commanded,  forcing  them  still  for 
ward,  until  their  faces  were  close  to  the  stable  floor. 

At  this  moment  he  received  a  real  surprise.     With 


THE  IMITATOR 

a  loud  whack  something  struck  the  back  of  his  head, 
and,  turning,  he  beheld  Verman  in  the  act  of  lifting 
a  piece  of  lath  to  strike  again. 

"Em  moys  ome!"  said  Verman,  the  Giant  Killer. 

"He  tongue-tie',"  Herman  explained.  "He  say, 
let  'em  boys  alone." 

Rupe  addressed  his  host  briefly: 

"Chase  them  nigs  out  o'  here!" 

"Don5  call  me  nig,"  said  Herman.  "I  mine  my 
own  biznuss.  You  let  'em  boys  alone." 

Rupe  strode  across  the  still  prostrate  Sam,  stepped 
upon  Penrod,  and,  equipping  his  countenance  with 
the  terrifying  scowl  and  protruded  jaw,  lowered  his 
head  to  the  level  of  Herman's. 

"Nig,  you'll  be  lucky  if  you  leave  here  alive!" 
And  he  leaned  forward  till  his  nose  was  within  less 
than  an  inch  of  Herman's  nose. 

It  could  be  felt  that  something  awful  was  about 
to  happen,  and  Penrod,  as  he  rose  from  the  floor, 
suffered  an  unexpected  twinge  of  apprehension  and 
remorse:  he  hoped  that  Rupe  wouldn't  really  hurt 
Herman.  A  sudden  dislike  of  Rupe  and  Rupe's 
ways  rose  within  him,  as  he  looked  at  the  big  boy 
overwhelming  the  little  darky  with  that  ferocious 
scowl.  Penrod,  all  at  once,  felt  sorry  about  some 
thing  indefinable ;  and,  with  equal  vagueness,  he  felt 
foolish.  "Come  on,  Rupe,"  he  suggested,  feebly, 
"let  Herman  go,  and  let's  us  make  our  billies  out 
of  the  rake  handle.** 


PENROD 

The  rake  handle,  however,  was  not  available,  if 
Rupe  had  inclined  to  favour  the  suggestion.  Ver- 
man  had  discarded  his  lath  for  the  rake,  which  he 
was  at  this  moment  lifting  in  the  air. 

"You  ole  black  nigger,"  the  fat-faced  boy  said 
venomously  to  Herman,  "I'm  agoin'  to " 

But  he  had  allowed  his  nose  to  remain  too  long 
near  Herman's.  Penrod's  familiar  nose  had  been 
as  close  with  only  a  ticklish  spinal  effect  upon  the 
not  very  remote  descendant  of  Congo  man-eaters. 
The  result  produced  by  the  glare  of  Rupe's  unfa 
miliar  eyes,  and  by  the  dreadfully  suggestive  prox 
imity  of  Rupe's  unfamiliar  nose,  was  altogether 
different.  Herman's  and  Verman's  Bangala  great 
grandfathers  never  considered  people  of  their  own 
jungle  neighbourhood  proper  material  for  a  meal, 
but  they  looked  upon  strangers — especially  trucu 
lent  strangers — as  distinctly  edible. 

Penrod  and  Sam  heard  Rupe  suddenly  squawk 
and  bellow;  saw  him  writhe  and  twist  and  fling  out 
his  arms  like  flails,  though  without  removing  his 
face  from  its  juxtaposition;  indeed,  for  a  moment, 
the  two  heads  seemed  even  closer. 

Then  they  separated — and  battle  was  on! 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

(COLOURED    TROOPS    IN    ACTION 

HOW  neat  and  pure  is  the  task  of  the  chroni 
cler  who  has  the  tale  to  tell  of  a  "good 
rousing  fight"  between  boys  or  men  who 
fight  in  the  "good  old  English  way,"  according  to  a 
model  set  for  fights  in  books  long  before  Tom  Brown 
went  to  Rugby.  There  are  seconds  and  rounds  and 
rules  of  fair-play,  and  always  there  is  great  good 
feeling  in  the  end — though  sometimes,  to  vary  the 
model,  "the  Butcher"  defeats  the  hero — and  the 
chronicler  who  stencils  this  fine  old  pattern  on  his 
page  is  certain  of  applause  as  the  stirrer  of  "red 
blood."  There  is  no  surer  recipe. 


PENROD 

But  when  Herman  and  Verman  set  to  't  the  record 
must  be  no  more  than  a  few  fragments  left  by  the 
expurgator.  It  has  been  perhaps  sufficiently  sug 
gested  that  the  altercation  in  Mr.  Schofield's  stable 
opened  with  mayhem  in  respect  to  the  aggressor's 
nose.  Expressing  vocally  his  indignation  and  the 
extremity  of  his  pained  surprise,  Mr.  Collins  stepped 
backward,  holding  his  left  hand  over  his  nose,  and 
striking  at  Herman  with  his  right.  Then  Verman 
hit  him  with  the  rake. 

Verman  struck  from  behind.  He  struck  as  hard 
as  he  could.  And  he  struck  with  the  tines  down- 
For,  in  his  simple,  direct  African  way  he  wished  to 
kill  his  enemy,  and  he  wished  to  kill  him  as  soon  as 
possible.  That  was  his  single,  earnest  purpose. 

On  this  account,  Rupe  Collins  was  peculiarly  un 
fortunate.  He  was  plucky  and  he  enjoyed  conflict, 
but  neither  his  ambitions  nor  his  anticipations  had 
ever  included  murder.  He  had  not  learned  that  an 
habitually  aggressive  person  runs  the  danger  of  col 
liding  with  beings  in  one  of  those  lower  stages  of 
evolution  wherein  theories  about  "hitting  below  the 
belt"  have  not  yet  made  their  appearance. 

The  rake  glanced  from  the  back  of  Rupe's  head 
to  his  shoulder,  but  it  felled  him.  Both  darkies 
jumped  full  upon  him  instantly,  and  the  three  rolled 
and  twisted  upon  the  stable  floor,  unloosing  upon  the 
air  sincere  maledictions  closely  connected  with  com 
plaints  of  cruel  and  unusual  treatment;  while  cer- 


COLOURED  TROOPS  IN  ACTION 

tain  expressions  of  feeling  presently  emanating  from 
Herman  and  Verman  indicated  that  Rupe  Collins, 
in  this  extremity,  was  proving  himself  not  too  slav 
ishly  addicted  to  fighting  by  rule.  Dan  and  Duke, 
mistaking  all  for  mirth,  barked  gayly. 

From  the  panting,  pounding,  yelling  heap  issued 
words  and  phrases  hitherto  quite  unknown  to  Pen- 
rod  and  Sam;  also,  a  hoarse  repetition  in  the  voice 
of  Rupe  concerning  his  ear  left  it  not  to  be  doubted 
that  additional  mayhem  was  taking  place.  Ap 
palled,  the  two  spectators  retreated  to  the  doorway 
nearest  the  yard,  where  they  stood  dumbly  watch 
ing  the  cataclysm. 

The  struggle  increased  in  primitive  simplicity: 
time  and  again  the  howling  Rupe  got  to  his  knees 
only  to  go  down  again  as  the  earnest  brothers,  in 
their  own  way,  assisted  him  to  a  more  reclining 
position.  Primal  forces  operated  here,  and  the  two 
blanched,  slightly  higher  products  of  evolution,  Sam 
and  Penrod,  no  more  thought  of  interfering  than 
they  would  have  thought  of  interfering  with  an 
earthquake. 

At  last,  out  of  the  ruck  rose  Verman,  disfigured 
and  maniacal.  With  a  wild  eye  he  looked  about 
him  for  his  trusty  rake;  but  Penrod,  in  horror,  had 
long  since  thrown  the  rake  out  into  the  yard.  Na 
turally,  it  had  not  seemed  necessary  to  lemove  the 
lawn-mower. 

The  frantic  eye  of  Verman  fell  upon  the  lawn- 


216  PENROD 

mower,  and  instantly  he  leaped  to  its  handle.  Shrill 
ing  a  wordless  war-cry,  he  charged,  propelling  the 
whirling,  deafening  knives  straight  upon  the  prone 
legs  of  Rupe  Collins.  The  lawn-mower  was  sin 
cerely  intended  to  pass  longitudinally  over  the  body 
of  Mr.  Collins  from  heel  to  head;  and  it  was  the 
time  for  a  death-song.  Black  Valkyrie  hovered  in 
the  shrieking  air. 

"Cut  his  gizzud  out!"  shrieked  Herman,  urging 
on  the  whirling  knives. 

They  touched  and  lacerated  the  shin  of  Rupe,  as, 
with  the  supreme  agony  of  effort  a  creature  in  mortal 
peril  puts  forth  before  succumbing,  he  tore  himself 
free  of  Herman  and  got  upon  his  feet. 

Herman  was  up  as  quickly.  He  leaped  to  the 
vail  and  seized  the  garden-scythe  that  hung  there. 

"I'm  go  to  cut  you'  gizzud  out,"  he  announced 
definitely,  "an'  eat  it !" 

Rupe  Collins  had  never  run  from  anybody  (except 
his  father)  in  his  life;  he  was  not  a  coward;  but  the 
present  situation  was  very,  very  unusual.  He  was 
already  in  a  badly  dismantled  condition,  and  yet 
Herman  and  Verman  seemed  discontented  with  their 
work:  Verman  was  swinging  the  grass-cutter  about 
for  a  new  charge,  apparently  still  wishing  to  mow 
him,  and  Herman  had  made  a  quite  plausible  state* 
ment  about  what  he  intended  to  do  with  the  scythe. 

Rupe  paused  but  for  an  extremely  condensed  sur 
vey  of  the  horrible  advance  of  the  brothers,  and 


COLOURED  TROOPS  IN  ACTION     217 

then,  uttering  a  blood-curdled  scream  of  fear,  ran 
out  of  the  stable  and  up  the  alley  at  a  speed  he  had 
never  before  attained,  so  that  even  Dan  had  hard 
work  to  keep  within  barking  distance.  And  a  'cross- 
shoulder  glance,  at  the  corner,  revealing  Verman  and 
Herman  in  pursuit,  the  latter  waving  his  scythe 
overhead,  Mr.  Collins  slackened  not  his  gait,  but, 
rather,  out  of  great  anguish,  increased  it;  the  while 
a  rapidly  developing  purpose  became  firm  in  his  mind 
—and  ever  after  so  remained — not  only  to  refrain 
from  visiting  that  neighbourhood  again,  but  never 
by  any  chance  to  come  within  a  mile  of  it. 

From  the  alley  door,  Penrod  and  Sam  watched  the 
flight,  and  were  without  words.  When  the  pursuit 
rounded  the  corner,  the  two  looked  wanly  at  each 
other,  but  neither  spoke  until  the  return  of  tht> 
brothers  from  the  chase. 

Herman  and  Verman  came  back,  laughing  and 
chuckling. 

"Hiyi !"  cackled  Herman  to  Verman,  as  they  came, 
"See  'atoleboy  run!" 

"Who-ee!"  Verman  shouted  in  ecstasy. 

"Nev5  did  see  boy  run  so  fas'!"  Herman  contin 
ued,  tossing  the  scythe  into  the  wheelbarrow.  "I 
bet  he  home  in  bed  by  viss  time  !?> 

Verman  roared  with  delight,  appearing  to  be 
wholly  unconscious  that  the  lids  of  his  right  eye  were 
swollen  shut  and  that  his  attire,  not  too  finical  before 
the  struggle,  now  entitled  him  to  unquestioned  rank 


218  PENROD 

as  a  sansculotte.  Herman  was  a  similar  ruin,  and 
gave  as  little  heed  to  his  condition. 

Penrod  looked  dazedly  from  Herman  to  Verman 
and  back  again.  So  did  Sam  Williams. 

"Herman,"  said  Penrod,  in  a  weak  voice,  "you 
wouldn't  honest  of  cut  his  gizzard  out,  would  you?" 

"Who?  Me?  I  don'  know.  He  mighty  mean  ole 
boy!"  Herman  shook  his  head  gravely,  and  then, 
observing  that  Verman  was  again  convulsed  with 
unctuous  merriment,  joined  laughter  with  his 
brother.  "Sho'!  I  guess  I  uz  dess  talkin9  whens  I 
said  'at !  Reckon  he  thought  I  meant  it,  f 'm  de  way 
he  tuck  an'  run.  Hiyi!  Reckon  he  thought  ole 
Herman  bad  man !  No,  suh !  I  uz  dess  talkin',  'cause 
I  nev'  would  cut  nobody!  I  ain'  tryin'  git  in  no 
jail — no,  suh!" 

Penrod  looked  at  the  scythe:  he  looked  at  Her 
man.  He  looked  at  the  lawn-mower,  and  he  looked 
at  Verman.  Then  he  looked  out  in  the  yard  at  the 
rake.  So  did  Sam  Williams. 

"Come  on,  Verman,"  said  Herman.  "We  ain'  go* 
'at  stove-wood  f  supper  yit." 

Giggling  reminiscently,  the  brothers  disappeared* 
leaving  silence  behind  them  in  the  carriage-house. 
Penrod  and  Sam  retired  slowly  into  the  shadowy 
interior,  each  glancing,  now  and  then,  with  a  pre 
occupied  air,  at  the  open,  empty  doorway  where  the 
late  afternoon  sunshine  was  growing  ruddy.  At 
intervals  one  or  the  other  scraped  the  floor  reflec- 


COLOURED  TROOPS  IN  ACTION 

tively  with  the  side  of  his  shoe.  Finally,  still  with 
out  either  having  made  any  effort  at  conversation, 
they  went  out  into  the  yard  and  stood,  continuing 
their  silence. 

"Well,"  said  Sam,  at  last,  "I  guess  it's  time  I 
better  be  gettin'  home.  So  long,  Penrod!" 

"So  long,  Sam,"  said  Penrod,  feebly. 

With  a  solemn  gaze  he  watched  his  friend  out 
of  sight.  Then  he  went  slowly  into  the  house,  and 
after  an  interval  occupied  in  a  unique  manner,  ap 
peared  in  the  library,  holding  a  pair  of  brilliantly 
gleaming  shoes  in  his  hand. 

Mr.  Schofield,  reading  the  evening  paper,  glanced 
frowningly  over  it  at  his  offspring. 

"Look,  papa,"  said  Penrod.  "I  found  your  shoes 
where  you'd  taken  'em  off  in  your  room,  to  put  on 
your  slippers,  and  they  were  all  dusty.  So  I  took 
'em  out  on  the  back  porch  and  gave  'em  a  good 
blacking.  They  shine  up  fine,  don't  they?" 

"Well,  I'll  be  d-dud-dummed!"  said  the  startled 
Mr.  Schofield. 

Penrod  was  zigzagging  back  to  normal. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 


i 


midsummer  sun  was  stinging  hot  out 
side  the  little  barber-shop  next  to  the  corner 
drug  store  and  Penrod,  undergoing  a  toi 
lette  preliminary  to  his  very  slowly  approaching 
twelfth  birthday,  was  adhesive  enough  to  retain  upon 
his  face  much  hair  as  it  fell  from  the  shears.  There 
is  a  mystery  here :  the  tonsorial  processes  are  not  un 
agreeable  to  manhood;  in  truth,  they  are  soothing; 
but  the  hairs  detached  from  a  boy's  head  get  into 
his  eyes,  his  ears,  his  nose,  his  mouth,  and  down  his 
neck,  and  he  does  everywhere  itch  excruciatingly. 
Wherefore  he  blinks,  winks,  weeps,  twitches,  con- 


"LITTLE  GENTLEMAN" 

denses  his  countenance,  and  squirms ;  and  perchance 
the  barber's  scissors  clip  more  than  intended — belike 
an  outlying  flange  of  ear. 

"Um — muh — ow!"  said  Penrod,  this  thing  hav 
ing  happened. 

"D'  I  touch  y'  up  a  little?"  inquired  the  barber, 
smiling  falsely. 

"Ooh — uh!"  The  boy  in  the  chair  offered  inar 
ticulate  protest,  as  the  wound  was  rubbed  with  alum. 

"That  don't  hurt!"  said  the  barber.  "You  will 
get  it,  though,  if  you  don't  sit  stiller,"  he  continued, 
nipping  in  the  bud  any  attempt  on  the  part  of  his 
patient  to  think  that  he  already  had  "it." 

"Pfuff !"  said  Penrod,  meaning  no  disrespect,  but 
endeavoring  to  dislodge  a  temporary  moustache  from 
his  lip. 

"You  ought  to  see  how  still  that  little  Georgie 
Bassett  sits,"  the  barber  went  on,  reprovingly.  "I 
hear  everybody  says  he's  the  best  boy  in  town." 

"Pfuff!  Phirr!"  There  was  a  touch  of  inten 
tional  contempt  in  this. 

"I  haven't  heard  nobody  around  the  neighbour 
hood  makin'  no  such  remarks,"  added  the  barber, 
"about  nobody  of  the  name  of  Penrod  Schofield." 

"Well,"  said  Penrod,  clearing  his  mouth  after  a 
struggle,  "who  wants  'em  to?  Ouch!" 

"I  hear  they  call  Georgie  Bassett  the  'little  gentle 
man,'  "  ventured  the  barber,  provocatively,  meeting 
with  instant  success. 


222  PENROD 

"They  better  not  call  me  that,"  returned  Penrod 
truculently.  "I'd  like  to  hear  anybody  try.  Just 
once,  that's  all!  I  bet  they'd  never  try  it  ag— — • 
Ouch!" 

"Why  ?     What'd  you  do  to  'em  ?" 

"It's  all  right  what  I'd  do!  I  bet  they  wouldn't 
want  to  call  me  that  again  long  as  they  lived !" 

"What'd  you  do  if  it  was  a  little  girl?  You 
wouldn't  hit  her,  would  you?" 

"Well,  I'd Ouch!" 

"You  wouldn't  hit  a  little  girl,  would  you?"  the 
barber  persisted,  gathering  into  his  powerful  fingers 
a  mop  of  hair  from  the  top  of  Penrod's  head  and 
pulling  that  suffering  head  into  an  unnatural  posi 
tion.  "Doesn't  the  Bible  say  it  ain't  never  right 
to  hit  the  weak  sex?" 

"Ow!     Say,  look  out!" 

"So  you'd  go  and  punch  a  pore,  weak,  little  girl, 
would  you?"  said  the  barber,  reprovingly. 

"Well,  who  said  I'd  hit  her?"  demanded  the  chiv 
alrous  Penrod.  "I  bet  I'd  fix  her  though,  all  right. 
She'd  see!" 

"You  wouldn't  call  her  names,  would  you?" 

"No,  I  wouldn't !  What  hurt  is  it  to  call  anybody 
names?" 

"Is  that  so!"  exclaimed  the  barber.  "Then  you 
was  intending  what  I  heard  you  hollering  at  Fisher's 
grocery  delivery  wagon  driver  fer  a  favour,  the  other 
day  when  I  wr,s  goin'  by  your  house,  was  you?  I 


"LITTLE  GENTLEMAN" 

reckon  I  better  tell  him,  because  he  says  to  me  after 
wards  if  he  ever  lays  eyes  on  you  when  you  ain't 
in  your  own  yard,  he's  goin'  to  do  a  whole  lot  o9 
things  you  ain't  goin'  to  like!  Yessir,  that's  what 
he  says  to  me!" 

"He  better  catch  me  first,  I  guess,  before  he  talks 
so  much." 

"Well,"  resumed  the  barber,  "that  ain't  sayin' 
what  you'd  do  if  a  young  lady  ever  walked  up  and 
called  you  a  little  gentleman.  /  want  to  hear  what 
you'd  do  to  her.  I  guess  I  know,  though — come  to 
think  of  it." 

"What?"  demanded  Penrod. 

"You'd  sick  that  pore  ole  dog  of  yours  on  her  cat, 
if  she  had  one,  I  expect,"  guessed  the  barber  deri 
sively. 

"No,  I  would  not!" 

"Well,  what  would  you  do?" 

"I'd  do  enough.    Don't  worry  about  that !" 

"Well,  suppose  it  was  a  boy,  then :  what'd  you  do 
if  a  boy  come  up  to  you  and  says,  'Hello,  little  gen 
tleman'?" 

"He'd  be  lucky,"  said  Penrod,  with  a  sinister 
frown,  "if  he  got  home  alive." 

"Suppose  it  was  a  boy  twice  your  size?" 

"Just  let  him  try,"  said  Penrod  ominously.  "You 
just  let  him  try.  He'd  never  see  daylight  again; 
that's  all!" 

The  barber  dug  ten  active  fingers  into  the  helpless 


PENROD 

scalp  before  him  and  did  his  best  to  displace  it,  while 
the  anguished  Penrod,  becoming  instantly  a  seething 
crucible  of  emotion,  misdirected  his  natural  resent 
ment  into  maddened  brooding  upon  what  he  would 
do  to  a  boy  "twice  his  size"  who  should  dare  to  call 
him  "little  gentleman."  The  barber  shook  him  as 
his  father  had  never  shaken  him ;  the  barber  buffeted 
him,  rocked  him  frantically  to  and  fro;  the  barber 
seemed  to  be  trying  to  wring  his  neck;  and  Penrod 
saw  himself  in  staggering  zigzag  pictures,  destroying 
large,  screaming,  fragmentary  boys  who  had  insulted 
him. 

The  torture  stopped  suddenly ;  and  clenched,  weep 
ing  eyes  began  to  see  again,  while  the  barber  applied 
cooling  lotions  which  made  Penrod  smell  like  a  col 
oured  housemaid's  ideal. 

"Now  what,"  asked  the  barber,  combing  the  reek 
ing  locks  gently,  "what  would  it  make  you  so  mad 
fer,  to  have  somebody  call  you  a  little  gentleman? 
It's  a  kind  of  compliment,  as  it  were,  you  might  say. 
What  would  you  want  to  hit  anybody  fer  that  fer?" 

To  the  mind  of  Penrod,  this  question  was  without 
meaning  or  reasonableness.  It  was  within  neither  his 
power  nor  his  desire  to  analyze  the  process  by  which 
the  phrase  had  become  offensive  to  him,  and  was  now 
rapidly  assuming  the  proportions  of  an  outrage.  He 
knew  only  that  his  gorge  rose  at  the  thought  of 
it. 

"You  just  let  'em  try  it!"  he  said  threateningly, 


"LITTLE  GENTLEMAN" 

as  he  slid  down  from  the  chair.  And  as  he  went  out 
of  the  door,  after  further  conversation  on  the  same 
subject,  he  called  back  those  warning  words  once 
more:  "Just  let  'em  try  it!  Just  once — that's  all 
/  ask  'em  to.  They'll  find  out  what  they  get!" 

The  barber  chuckled.  Then  a  fly  lit  on  the  bar 
ber's  nose  and  he  slapped  at  it,  and  the  slap  missed 
the  fly  but  did  not  miss  the  nose.  The  barber  was 
irritated.  At  this  moment  his  birdlike  eye  gleamed 
a  gleam  as  it  fell  upon  customers  approaching:  the 
prettiest  little  girl  in  the  world,  leading  by  the  hand 
her  baby  brother,  Mitchy-Mitch,  coming  to  have 
Mitchy-Mitch's  hair  clipped,  against  the  heat. 

It  was  a  hot  day  and  idle,  with  little  to  feed  the 
mind — and  the  barber  was  a  mischievous  man  with 
an  irritated  nose.  He  did  his  worst. 

Meanwhile,  the  brooding  Penrod  pursued  his 
homeward  way;  no  great  distance,  but  long  enough 
for  several  one-sided  conflicts  with  malign  insulters 
made  of  thin  air.  "You  better  not  call  me  that!" 
he  muttered.  "You  just  try  it,  and  you'll  get  what 
other  people  got  when  they  tried  it.  You  better 
not  ack  fresh  with  me!  Oh,  you  will,  will  you?" 
He  delivered  a  vicious  kick  full  upon  the  shins  of  an 
iron  fence-post,  which  suffered  little,  though  Penrod 
instantly  regretted  his  indiscretion.  "Oof!"  he 
grunted,  hopping;  and  went  on  after  bestowing  a 
look  of  awful  hostility  upon  the  fence-post.  "I  guess 
you'll  know  better  next  time/'  he  said,  in  parting. 


PENROD 

to  this   antagonist.      "You  just  let  me  catch  you 

around  here  again  and  I'll "  His  voice  sank  to 

inarticulate  but  ominous  murmurings.     He  was  in  a 
dangerous  mood. 

Near  ing  home,  however,  his  belligerent  spirit  was 
diverted  to  happier  interests  by  the  discovery  that 
some  workmen  had  left  a  caldron  of  tar  in  the  cross- 
street,  close  by  his  father's  stable.  He  tested  it, 
but  found  it  inedible.  Also,  as  a  substitute  for  pro 
fessional  chewing-gum  it  was  unsatisfactory,  being 
insufficiently  boiled  down  and  too  thin,  though  of  a 
pleasant,  lukewarm  temperature.  But  it  had  an  ex 
cess  of  one  quality — it  was  sticky.  It  was  the  sticki 
est  tar  Penrod  had  ever  used  for  any  purposes 
whatsoever,  and  nothing  upon  which  he  wiped  his 
hands  served  to  rid  them  of  it;  neither  his  polka- 
dotted  shirt  waist  nor  his  knickerbockers;  neither 
the  fence,  nor  even  Duke,  who  came  unthinkingly 
wagging  out  to  greet  him,  and  retired  wiser. 

Nevertheless,  tar  is  tar.  Much  can  be  done  with 
it,  no  matter  what  its  condition ;  so  Penrod  lingered 
by  the  caldron,  though  from  a  neighbouring  yard 
could  be  heard  the  voices  of  comrades,  including  that 
of  Sam  Williams.  On  the  ground  about  the  caldron 
were  scattered  chips  and  sticks  and  bits  of  wood  to 
the  number  of  a  great  multitude.  Penrod  mixed! 
quantities  of  this  refuse  into  the  tar,  and  interested 
himself  in  seeing  how  much  of  it  he  could  keep  mov 
ing  in  slow  swirls  upon  the  ebon  surface. 


"LITTLE  GENTLEMAN" 

Other  surprises  were  arranged  for  the  absent  work 
men.  The  caldron  was  almost  full,  and  the  surface 
of  the  tar  near  the  rim.  Penrod  endeavoured  to 
ascertain  how  many  pebbles  and  brickbats,  dropped 
in,  would  cause  an  overflow.  Labouring  heartily 
to  this  end,  he  had  almost  accomplished  it,  when  he 
received  the  suggestion  for  an  experiment  on  a  much 
larger  scale.  Embedded  at  the  corner  of  a  grass- 
plot  across  the  street  was  a  whitewashed  stone,  the 
size  of  a  small  watermelon  and  serving  no  purpose 
whatever  save  the  questionable  one  of  decoration.  It 
was  easily  pried  up  with  a  stick;  though  getting  it 
to  the  caldron  tested  the  full  strength  of  the  ardent 
labourer.  Instructed  to  perform  such  a  task,  he 
would  have  sincerely  maintained  its  impossibility ; 
but  now,  as  it  was  unbidden,  and  promised  rather 
destructive  results,  he  set  about  it  with  unconquerable 
energy,  feeling  certain  that  he  would  be  rewarded 
with  a  mighty  splash.  Perspiring,  grunting  vehe 
mently,  his  back  aching  and  all  muscles  strained,  he 
progressed  in  short  stages  until  the  big  stone  lay  at 
the  base  of  the  caldron.  He  rested  a  moment,  pant 
ing,  then  lifted  the  stone,  and  was  bending  his  shoul 
ders  for  the  heave  that  would  lift  it  over  the  rim,  when 
a  sweet,  taunting  voice,  close  behind  him,  startled 
him  cruelly. 

"How  do  you  do,  little  gentleman!" 

Penrod  squawked,  dropped  the  stone,  and  shouted, 
"Shut  up,  you  dern  fool!"  purely  from  instinct, 


228  PENROD 

even  before  his  about-face  made  him  aware  who  had 
so  spitefully  addressed  him. 

It  was  Marjorie  Jones.  Always  dainty,  and 
prettily  dressed,  she  was  in  speckless  and  starchy 
white  to-day,  and  a  refreshing  picture  she  made,  with 
the  new-shorn  and  powerfully  scented  Mitchy-Mitch 
clinging  to  her  hand.  They  had  stolen  up  behind 
the  toiler,  and  now  stood  laughing  together  in  sweet 
merriment.  Since  the  passing  of  Penrod's  Rupe 
Collins  period  he  had  experienced  some  severe  qualms 
at  the  recollection  of  his  last  meeting  with  Marjorie 
and  his  Apache  behaviour;  in  truth,  his  heart  in 
stantly  became  as  wax  at  sight  of  her,  and  he  would 
have  offered  her  fair  speech;  but,  alas!  in  Marjorie's 
wonderful  eyes  there  shone  a  consciousness  of  new 
powers  for  his  undoing,  and  she  denied  him  oppor 
tunity. 

"Oh,  oh!"  she  cried,  mocking  his  pained  outcry. 
"What  a  way  for  a  little  gentleman  to  talk!  Little 
gentleman  don't  say  wicked " 

"Marjorie!"  Penrod,  enraged  and  dismayed,  felt 
himself  stung  beyond  all  endurance.  Insult  from  her 
was  bitterer  to  endure  than  from  any  other.  "Don't 
you  call  me  that  again !" 

"Why  not,  little  gentleman?" 

He  stamped  his  foot.     "You  better  stop!" 

Marjorie  sent  into  his  furious  face  her  lovely, 
spiteful  laughter. 

"Little  gentleman,  little  gentleman,  little  gentle- 


"LITTLE  GENTLEMAN" 

man !"  she  said  deliberately.  "How's  the  little  gentle 
man,  this  afternoon?  Hello,  little  gentleman!" 

Penrod,  quite  beside  himself,  danced  eccentrically. 
"Dry  up !"  he  howled.  "Dry  up,  dry  up,  dry  upf 
dry  up!" 

Mitchy-Mitch  shouted  with  delight  and  applied 
a  finger  to  the  side  of  the  caldron — a  finger  imme 
diately  snatched  away  and  wiped  upon  a  handker^ 
chief  by  his  fastidious  sister. 

"  'Ittle  gellamun !"  said  Mitchy-Mitch. 

"You  better  look  out!"  Penrod  whirled  upon  this 
small  offender  with  grim  satisfaction.  Here  was 
at  least  something  male  that  could  without  dis 
honour  be  held  responsible.  "You  say  that  again, 
and  I'll  give  you  the  worst " 

"You  will  not!"  snapped  Marjorie,  instantly 
vitriolic.  "He'll  say  just  whatever  he  wants  to,  and 
he'll  say  it  just  as  much  as  he  wants  to.  Say  it  again, 
Mitchy-Mitch!" 

"  'Ittle  gellamun !"  said  Mitchy-Mitch  promptly. 

"Ow-2/^/t/"  Penrod's  tone-production  was  becom 
ing  affected  by  his  mental  condition.  "You  say  that 
again,  and  I'll " 

"Go  on,  Mitchy-Mitch,"  cried  Marjorie.  "He 
can't  do  a  thing.  He  don't  dare!  Say  it  some  more, 
Mitchy-Mitch — say  it  a  whole  lot !" 

Mitchy-Mitch,  his  small,  fat  face  shining  with 
confidence  in  his  immunity,  complied. 

"  'Ittle    gellamun !"    he    squeaked    malevolently. 


£30  PENROD 

"'Ittle  gellamun!  'Ittle  gellamun!  'Ittle  gella- 
mun!" 

The  desperate  Penrod  bent  over  the  whitewashed 
rock,  lifted  it,  and  then — outdoing  Porthos,  John 
Ridd,  and  Ursus  in  one  miraculous  burst  of  strength 
— heaved  it  into  the  air. 

Marjorie  screamed. 

But  it  was  too  late.  The  big  stone  descended  into 
the  precise  midst  of  the  caldron  and  Penrod  got  his 
mighty  splash.  It  was  far,  far  beyond  his  expecta 
tions. 

Spontaneously  there  were  grand  and  awful  effects 
— volcanic  spectacles  of  nightmare  and  eruption. 
A  black  sheet  of  eccentric  shape  rose  out  of  the  cal 
dron  and  descended  upon  the  three  children,  who 
had  no  time  to  evade  it. 

After  it  fell,  Mitchy-Mitch,  who  stood  nearest  the 
caldron,  was  the  thickest,  though  there  was  enough 
for  all.  Br'er  Rabbit  would  have  fled  from  any  of 
them. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

TAR 

"^T  "TT  "THEN  Marjorie  and  Mitchy -Mitch  got 
%  /%  /  their  breath,  they  used  it  vocally;  and 
Y  T  seldom  have  more  penetrating  sounds 
issued  from  human  throats.  Coincidentally3  Mar 
jorie,  quite  baresark,  laid  hands  upon  the  largest 
stick  within  reach  and  fell  upon  Penrod  with  blind 
fury.  He  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  flee,  and  they 
went  round  and  round  the  caldron,  while  Mitchy- 
Mitch  feebly  endeavoured  to  follow — his  appearance, 
in  this  pursuit,  being  pathetically  like  that  of  a  bug 
fished  out  of  an  ink-well,  alive  but  discouraged. 

Attracted  by  the  riot,  Samuel  Williams  made  his 
appearance,  vaulting  a  fence,  and  was  immediately 
followed  by  Maurice  Levy  and  Georgie  Bassett. 


PENROD 

They  stared  incredulously  at  the  extraordinary  spec 
tacle  before  them. 

"Little  GEN-TLL-MUN  !"  shrieked  Marjorie,  with  a 
wild  stroke  that  landed  full  upon  Penrod's  tarry  cap. 

"Oooch!"  bleated  Penrod. 

"It's  Penrod !"  shouted  Sam  Williams,  recognizing 
him  by  the  voice.  For  an  instant  he  had  been  in 
some  doubt. 

"Penrod  Schofield!"  exclaimed  Georgie  Bassett. 
66 What  does  this  mean?"  That  was  Georgie's  style, 
and  had  helped  to  win  him  his  title. 

Marjorie  leaned,  panting,  upon  her  stick.  "I 
cu-called — uh — him — oh!"  she  sobbed — "I  called 
him  a  lul-little — oh — gentleman !  And  oh — lul-look ! 
— oh!  lul-look  at  my  du-dress!  Lul-look  at  Mu- 
mitchy — oh — Mitch — oh !" 

Unexpectedly,  she  smote  again — with  results — 
and  then,  seizing  the  indistinguishable  hand  of 
Mitchy-Mitch,  she  ran  wailing  homeward  down  the 
street. 

"'Little  gentleman'?"  said  Georgie  Bassett,  with 
some  evidences  of  disturbed  complacency.  "Why, 
that's  what  they  call  me!" 

"Yes,  and  you  are  one,  too!"  shouted  the  mad 
dened  Penrod.  "But  you  better  not  let  anybody 
call  me  that!  I've  stood  enough  around  here  for 
one  day,  and  you  can't  run  over  me,  Georgie  Bassett. 
Just  you  put  that  in  your  gizzard  and  smoke  it !" 

"Anybody  has  a  perfect  right,"  said  Georgie,  with, 


TAR  233 

dignity,  "to  call  a  person  a  little  gentleman.  There's 
lots  of  names  nobody  ought  to  call,  but  this  one's  a 
nice " 

"You  better  lookout!" 

Unavenged  bruises  were  distributed  all  over  Pen- 
rod,  both  upon  his  body  and  upon  his  spirit.  Driven 
by  subtle  forces,  he  had  dipped  his  hands  in  catastro 
phe  and  disaster :  it  was  not  for  a  Georgie  Bassett  to 
beard  him.  Penrod  was  about  to  run  amuck. 

"I  haven't  called  you  a  little  gentleman,  yet,"  said 
Georgie.  "I  only  said  it.  Anybody's  got  a  right  to 
say  it." 

"Not  around  me!    You  just  try  it  again  and " 

"I  shall  say  it,"  returned  Georgie,  "all  I  please. 
Anybody  in  this  town  has  a  right  to  say  'little  gentle 
man' " 

Bellowing  insanely,  Penrod  plunged  his  right  hand 
into  the  caldron,  rushed  upon  Georgie  and  made 
awful  work  of  his  hair  and  features. 

Alas,  it  was  but  the  beginning!  Sam  Williams 
and  Maurice  Levy  screamed  with  delight,  and,  simul 
taneously  infected,  danced  about  the  struggling  pair, 
shouting  frantically: 

"Little  gentleman !  Little  gentleman !  Sick  him, 
Georgie !  Sick  him,  little  gentleman !  Little  gentle 
man  !  Little  gentleman !" 

The  infuriated  outlaw  turned  upon  them  with 
blows  and  more  tar,  which  gave  Georgie  Bassett  his 
opportunity  and  later  seriously  impaired  the  purity 


PENROD 

of  his  fame.  Feeling  himself  hopelessly  tarred,  he 
dipped  both  hands  repeatedly  into  the  caldron  and 
applied  his  gatherings  to  Penrod.  It  was  bringing 
coals  to  Newcastle,  but  it  helped  to  assuage  the  just 
wrath  of  Georgie. 

The  four  boys  gave  a  fine  imitation  of  the  Laocoon 
group  complicated  by  an  extra  figure — frantic  splut- 
terings  and  chokings,  strange  cries  and  stranger 
words  issued  from  this  tangle ;  hands  dipped  lavishly 
into  the  inexhaustible  reservoir  of  tar,  with  more 
and  more  picturesque  results.  The  caldron  had  been 
elevated  upon  bricks  and  was  not  perfectly  balanced ; 
and  under  a  heavy  impact  of  the  struggling  group 
it  lurched  and  went  partly  over,  pouring  forth  a 
Stygian  tide  which  formed  a  deep  pool  in  the  gutter. 

It  was  the  fate  of  Master  Roderick  Bitts,  that 
exclusive  and  immaculate  person,  to  make  his  ap 
pearance  upon  the  chaotic  scene  at  this  juncture. 
All  in  the  cool  of  a  white  "sailor  suit,"  he  turned 
aside  from  the  path  of  duty — which  led  straight 
to  the  house  of  a  maiden  aunt — and  paused  to  hop 
with  joy  upon  the  sidewalk.  A  repeated  epithet 
continuously  half  panted,  half  squawked,  somewhere 
in  the  nest  of  gladiators,  caught  his  ear,  and  he  took 
it  up  excitedly,  not  knowing  why. 

"Little  gentleman!"  shouted  Roderick,  jumping 
up  and  down  in  childish  glee.  "Little  gentleman! 
Little  gentleman !  Lit " 

A  frightful  figure  tore  itself  free  from  the  group. 


TAR  235 

encircled  this  innocent  bystander  with  a  black  arm, 
and  hurled  him  headlong.  Full  length  and  flat  on 
his  face  went  Roderick  into  the  Stygian  pool.  The 
frightful  figure  was  Penrod.  Instantly,  the  pack 
flung  themselves  upon  him  again,  and,  carrying  them 
with  him,  he  went  over  upon  Roderick,  who  from 
that  instant  was  as  active  a  belligerent  as  any  there. 

Thus  began  the  Great  Tar  Fight,  the  origin  of 
which  proved,  afterward,  so  difficult  for  parents  to 
trace,  owing  to  the  opposing  accounts  of  the  com 
batants.  Marjorie  said  Penrod  began  it;  Penrod 
said  Mitchy-Mitch  began  it;  Sam  Williams  said 
Georgie  Bassett  began  it ;  Georgie  and  Maurice  Levy 
said  Penrod  began  it;  Roderick  Bitts,  who  had  not 
recognized  his  first  assailant,  said  Sam  Williams  be 
gan  it. 

Nobody  thought  of  accusing  the  barber.  But  the 
barber  did  not  begin  it ;  it  was  the  fly  on  the  barber's 
nose  that  began  it — though,  of  course,  something 
else  began  the  fly.  Somehow,  we  never  manage  to 
hang  the  real  offender. 

The  end  came  only  with  the  arrival  of  Penrod's 
mother,  who  had  been  having  a  painful  conversation 
by  telephone  with  Mrs.  Jones,  the  mother  of  Mar 
jorie,  and  came  forth  to  seek  an  errant  son.  It  is  a 
mystery  how  she  was  able  to  pick  out  her  own,  for 
by  the  time  she  got  there  his  voice  was  too  hoarse 
to  be  recognizable. 

Mr.  Schofield's  version  of  things  was  that  Penrod 


236  PENROD 

was  insane.  "He's  a  stark,  raving  lunatic!"  de 
clared  the  father,  descending  to  the  library  from  a 
before-dinner  interview  with  the  outlaw,  that  eve 
ning.  "I'd  send  him  to  military  school,  but  I  don't 
believe  they'd  take  him.  Do  you  know  why  he  says 
all  that  awfulness  happened?" 

"When  Margaret  and  I  were  trying  to  scrub  him," 
responded  Mrs.  Schofield  wearily,  "he  said  'every 
body'  had  been  calling  him  names." 

"  'Names !'  "  snorted  her  husband.  "  'Little  gen 
tleman!'  That's  the  vile  epithet  they  called  him! 
And  because  of  it  he  wrecks  the  peace  of  six  homes !" 

"Sh!  Yes ;  he  told  us  about  it,"  said  Mrs.  Scho 
field,  moaning.  "He  told  us  several  hundred  times, 
I  should  guess,  though  I  didn't  count.  He's  got  it 
fixed  in  his  head,  and  we  couldn't  get  it  out.  All 
we  could  do  was  to  put  him  in  the  closet.  He'd  have 
gone  out  again  after  those  boys  if  we  hadn't.  I 
don't  know  what  to  make  of  him !" 

"He's  a  mystery  to  me!"  said  her  husband.  "And 
he  refuses  to  explain  why  he  objects  to  being  called 
'little  gentleman.'  Says  he'd  do  the  same  thing — 
and  worse — if  anybody  dared  to  call  him  that  again. 
He  said  if  the  President  of  the  United  States  called 
him  that  he'd  try  to  whip  him.  How  long  did  you 
have  him  locked  up  in  the  closet?" 

"Sh!"  said  Mrs.  Schofield  warningly.  "About 
two  hours ;  but  I  don't  think  it  softened  his  spirit  at 
all,  because  when  I  took  him  to  the  barber's  to  get 


Thus  began  the  Great  Tar  Fight 
237 


238  PENROD 

his  hair  clipped  again,  on  account  of  the  tar  in  it, 
Sammy  Williams  and  Maurice  Levy  were  there  for 
the  same  reason,  and  they  just  whispered  'little 
gentleman,'  so  low  you  could  hardly  hear  them  — 
and  Penrod  began  fighting  with  them  right  before 
me,  and  it  was  really  all  the  barber  and  I  could  do  to 
drag  him  away  from  them.  The  barber  was  very 
kind  about  it,  but  Penrod  -  " 

"I  tell  you  he's  a  lunatic!"  Mr.  Schofield  would 
have  said  the  same  thing  of  a  Frenchman  infuriated 
by  the  epithet  "camel."  The  philosophy  of  insult 
needs  expounding. 

"Sh!"  said  Mrs.  Schofield.  "It  does  seem  a  kind 
of  frenzy." 

"Why  on  earth  should  any  sane  person  mind  being 
called  -  » 


said  Mrs.  Schofield.     "It's  beyond  me!" 

"What  are  you  sh-ing  me  for?"  demanded  Mr. 
Schofield  explosively. 

"Sh!"  said  Mrs.  Schofield.  "It's  Mr.  Kinosling, 
the  new  rector  of  Saint  Joseph's." 

"Where?" 

"Sh!  On  the  front  porch  with  Margaret;  he's 
going  to  stay  for  dinner.  I  do  hope  -  " 

"Bachelor,  isn't  he?" 

"Yes." 

"Our  old  minister  was  speaking  of  him  the  other 
day,"  said  Mr.  Schofield,  "and  he  didn't  seem  so 
terribly  impressed." 


TAR  239 

"Sh!  Yes;  about  thirty,  and  of  course  so  su 
perior  to  most  of  Margaret's  friends — boys  home 
from  college.  She  thinks  she  likes  young  Robert 
Williams^  I  know — but  he  laughs  so  much!  Of 
course  there  isn't  any  comparison.  Mr.  Kinosling 
talks  so  intellectually ;  it's  a  good  thing  for  Margaret 
to  hear  that  kind  of  thing,  for  a  change — and,  of 
course,  he's  very  spiritual.  He  seems  very  much 
interested  in  her."  She  paused  to  muse.  "I  think 
Margaret  likes  him;  he's  so  different,  too.  It's  the 
third  time  he's  dropped  in  this  week,  and  I " 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Schofield  grimly,  "if  you  and 
Margaret  want  him  to  come  again,  you'd  better  not 
let  him  see  Penrod." 

"But  he's  asked  to  see  him;  he  seems  interested 
in  meeting  all  the  family.  And  Penrod  nearly  always 
behaves  fairly  well  at  table."  She  paused,  and  then 
put  to  her  husband  a  question  referring  to  his  inter 
view  with  Penrod  upstairs.  "Did  you — did  you — do 
it?" 

"No,"  he  answered  gloomily.  "No,  I  didn't, 

but "  He  was  interrupted  by  a  violent  crash  of 

china  and  metal  in  the  kitchen,  a  shriek  from  Delia, 
and  the  outrageous  voice  of  Penrod.  The  well- 
informed  Delia,  ill-inspired  to  set  up  for  a  wit,  had 
ventured  to  address  the  scion  of  the  house  roguishly 
as  "little  gentleman,"  and  Penrod,  by  means  of  the 
rapid  elevation  of  his  right  foot,  had  removed  from 
her  supporting1  hands  a  laden  tray.  Both  paints 


240  PENROD 

started  for  the  kitchen,  Mr.  Schofield  completing  his 
interrupted  sentence  on  the  way. 

"But  I  will,  now!" 

The  rite  thus  promised  was  hastily  but  accurately 
performed  in  that  apartment  most  distant  from  the 
front  porch;  and,  twenty  minutes  later,  Penrod  de 
scended  to  dinner.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Kinosling  had 
asked  for  the  pleasure  of  meeting  him,  and  it  had 
been  decided  that  the  only  course  possible  was  to 
cover  up  the  scandal  for  the  present,  and  to  offer 
an  undisturbed  and  smiling  family  surface  to  the 
gaze  of  the  visitor. 

Scorched  but  not  bowed,  the  smouldering  Penrod 
was  led  forward  for  the  social  formulae  simultane 
ously  with  the  somewhat  bleak  departure  of  Robert 
Williams,  who  took  his  guitar  with  him,  this  time,  and 
went  in  forlorn  unconsciousness  of  the  powerful 
forces  already  set  in  secret  motion  to  be  his  allies. 

The  punishment  just  undergone  had  but  made 
the  haughty  and  unyielding  soul  of  Penrod  more 
stalwart  in  revolt ;  he  was  unconquered.  Every  time 
the  one  intolerable  insult  had  been  offered  him,  his 
resentment  had  become  the  hotter,  his  vengeance 
the  more  instant  and  furious.  And,  still  burning 
with  outrage,  but  upheld  by  the  conviction  of  right, 
he  was  determined  to  continue  to  the  last  drop  of  his 
blood  the  defense  of  his  honour,  whenever  it  should 
be  assailed,  no  matter  how  mighty  or  august  the 


TAR 

powers  that  attacked  it.  In  all  ways,  he  was  a  very 
sore  boy. 

During  the  brief  ceremony  of  presentation,  his 
usually  inscrutable  countenance  wore  an  expression 
interpreted  by  his  father  as  one  of  insane  obstinacy, 
while  Mrs.  Schofield  found  it  an  incentive  to  inward 
prayer.  The  fine  graciousness  of  Mr.  Kinosling, 
however,  was  unimpaired  by  the  glare  of  virulent 
suspicion  given  him  by  this  little  brother :  Mr.  Kinos 
ling  mistook  it  for  a  natural  curiosity  concerning 
one  who  might  possibly  become,  in  time,  a  member 
of  the  family.  He  patted  Penrod  upon  the  head, 
which  was,  for  many  reasons,  in  no  condition  to  be 
patted  with  any  pleasure  to  the  patter.  Penrod  felt 
himself  in  the  presence  of  a  new  enemy. 

"How  do  you  do,  my  little  lad,"  said  Mr.  Kinos 
ling.  "I  trust  we  shall  become  fast  friends." 

To  the  ear  of  his  little  lad,  it  seemed  he  said,  "A 
trost  we  shall  bick-home  fawst  frainds."  Mr.  Kinos- 
ling's  pronunciation  was,  in  fact,  slightly  precious; 
and  the  little  lad,  simply  mistaking  it  for  some  cryp 
tic  form  of  mockery  of  himself,  assumed  a  manner 
and  expression  which  argued  so  ill  for  the  proposed 
friendship  that  Mrs.  Schofield  hastily  interposed 
the  suggestion  of  dinner,  and  the  small  procession 
went  in  to  the  dining-room. 

"It  has  been  a  delicious  day,"  said  Mr.  Kinosling, 
presently;  "warm  but  balmy."  With  a  benevolent 


PENROD 

smile  he  addressed  Penrod,  who  sat  opposite  him. 
"I  suppose,  little  gentleman,  you  have  been  indulg 
ing  in  the  usual  outdoor  sports  of  vacation?" 

Penrod  laid  down  his  fork  and  glared,  open- 
mouthed  at  Mr.  Kinosling. 

"You'll  have  another  slice  of  breast  of  the 
chicken?"  Mr.  Schofield  inquired,  loudly  and  quickly. 

"A  lovely  day!"  exclaimed  Margaret,  with  equal 
promptitude  and  emphasis.  "Lovely,  oh,  lovely! 
Lovely!" 

"Beautiful,  beautiful,  beautiful !"  said  Mrs.  Scho 
field,  and  after  a  glance  at  Penrod  which  confirmed 
her  impression  that  he  intended  to  say  something, 
she  continued,  "Yes,  beautiful,  beautiful,  beautiful> 
beautiful,  beautiful  beautiful!" 

Penrod  closed  his  mouth  and  sank  back  in  his 
chair — and  his  relatives  took  breath. 

Mr.  Kinosling  looked  pleased.  This  responsive 
family,  with  its  ready  enthusiasm,  made  the  kind  of 
audience  he  liked.  He  passed  a  delicate  white  hand 
gracefully  over  his  tall,  pale  forehead,  and  smiled 
indulgently. 

"Youth  relaxes  in  summer,"  he  said.  "Boyhood 
is  the  age  of  relaxation;  one  is  playful,  light,  free, 
unfettered.  One  runs  and  leaps  and  enjoys  one's 
self  with  one's  companions.  It  is  good  for  the  little 
lads  to  play  with  their  friends ;  they  jostle,  push,  and 
wrestle,  and  simulate  little,  happy  struggles  with  one 
another  in  harmless  conflict.  The  young  muscles 


TAR 

are  toughening.  It  is  good.  Boyish  chivalry  devel 
ops,  enlarges,  expands.  The  young  learn  quickly, 
intuitively,  spontaneously.  They  perceive  the  ob 
ligations  of  noblesse  oblige.  They  begin  to  compre 
hend  the  necessity  of  caste  and  its  requirements. 
They  learn  what  birth  means — ah, — that  is,  they 
learn  what  it  means  to  be  well  born.  They  learn 
courtesy  in  their  games;  they  learn  politeness,  con 
sideration  for  one  another  in  their  pastimes,  amuse 
ments,  lighter  occupations.  I  make  it  my  pleasure 
to  join  them  often,  for  I  sympathize  with  them  in  all 
their  wholesome  joys  as  well  as  in  their  little  bothers 
and  perplexities.  I  understand  them,  you  see;  and 
let  me  tell  you  it  is  no  easy  matter  to  understand  the 
little  lads  and  lassies."  He  sent  to  each  listener  his 
beaming  glance,  and,  permitting  it  to  come  to  rest 
upon  Penrod,  inquired: 

"And  what  do  you  say  to  that,  little  gentleman  ?" 

Mr.  Schofield  uttered  a  stentorian  cough.  "More? 
You'd  better  have  some  more  chicken !  More !  Do !" 

"More  chicken!"  urged  Margaret  simultaneously. 
"Do  please!  Please!  More!  Do!  More!" 

"Beautiful,  beautiful,"  began  Mrs.  Schofield. 
"Beautiful,  beautiful,  beautiful,  beautiful " 

It  is  not  known  in  what  light  Mr.  Kinosling  viewed 
the  expression  of  Penrod's  face.  Perhaps  he  mis 
took  it  for  awe;  perhaps  he  received  no  impression 
at  all  of  its  extraordinary  quality.  He  was  a  rather 
self -engrossed  young  man,  just  then  engaged  in  a 


PENROD 

double  occupation,  for  he  not  only  talked,  but  sup 
plied  from  his  own  consciousness  a  critical  though 
favourable  auditor  as  well,  which  of  course  kept  him 
quite  busy.  Besides,  it  is  oftener  than  is  expected 
the  case  that  extremely  peculiar  expressions  upon 
the  countenances  of  boys  are  entirely  overlooked, 
and  suggest  nothing  to  the  minds  of  people  staring 
straight  at  them.  Certainly  Penrod's  expression — 
which,  to  the  perception  of  his  family,  was  perfectly 
horrible — caused  not  the  faintest  perturbation  in 
the  breast  of  Mr.  Kinosling. 

Mr.  Kinosling  waived  the  chicken,  and  continued 
to  talk.  "Yes,  I  think  I  may  claim  to  understand 
boys,"  he  said,  smiling  thoughtfully.  "One  has 
been  a  boy  one's  self.  Ah,  it  is  not  all  playtime !  I 
hope  our  young  scholar  here  does  not  overwork 
himself  at  his  Latin,  at  his  classics,  as  I  did,  so  that 
at  the  age  of  eight  years  I  was  compelled  to  wear 
glasses.  He  must  be  careful  not  to  strain  the  little 
eyes  at  his  scholar's  tasks,  not  to  let  the  little  shoul 
ders  grow  round  over  his  scholar's  desk.  Youth  is 
golden ;  we  should  keep  it  golden,  bright,  glistening. 
Youth  should  frolic,  should  be  sprightly;  it  should 
play  its  cricket,  its  tennis,  its  hand-ball.  It  should 
run  and  leap ;  it  should  laugh,  should  sing  madrigals 
and  glees,  carol  with  the  lark,  ring  out  in  chanties, 
folk-songs,  ballads,  roundelays " 

He  talked  on.  At  any  instant  Mr.  Schofield  held 
himself  ready  to  cough  vehemently  and  shout,  "More 


TAR 

chicken,"  to  drown  out  Penrod  in  case  the  fatal 
words  again  fell  from  those  eloquent  lips;  and  Mrs. 
Schofield  and  Margaret  kept  themselves  prepared 
at  all  times  to  assist  him.  So  passed  a  threatening 
meal,  which  Mrs.  Schofield  hurried,  by  every  means 
with  decency,  to  its  conclusion.  She  felt  that  some 
how  they  would  all  be  safer  out  in  the  dark  of  the 
front  porch,  and  led  the  way  thither  as  soon  as  pos 
sible. 

"No  cigar,  I  thank  you."  Mr.  Kinosling,  estab 
lishing  himself  in  a  wicker  chair  beside  Margaret, 
waved  away  her  father's  proffer.  "I  do  not  smoke. 
I  have  never  tasted  tobacco  in  any  form."  Mrs. 
Schofield  was  confirmed  in  her  opinion  that  this 
would  be  an  ideal  son-in-law.  Mr.  Schofield  was  not 
so  sure. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Kinosling.  "No  tobacco  for  me. 
No  cigar,  no  pipe,  no  cigarette,  no  cheroot.  For 
me,  a  book — a  volume  of  poems,  perhaps.  Verses, 
rhymes,  lines  metrical  and  cadenced — those  are  my 
dissipation.  Tennyson  by  preference:  'Maud,'  or 
'Idylls  of  the  King' — poetry  of  the  sound  Victorian 
days ;  there  is  none  later.  Or  Longfellow  will  rest  me 
in  a  tired  hour.  Yes ;  for  me,  a  book,  a  volume  in  the 
hand,  held  lightly  between  the  fingers." 

Mr.  Kinosling  looked  pleasantly  at  his  fingers  as 
he  spoke,  waving  his  hand  in  a  curving  gesture  which 
brought  it  into  the  light  of  a  window  faintly  il 
lumined  from  the  interior  of  the  house.  Then  he 


246  PENROD 

passed  those  graceful  fingers  over  his  hair,  and 
turned  toward  Penrod,  who  was  perched  upon  the 
railing  in  a  dark  corner. 

"The  evening  is  touched  with  a  slight  coolness," 
said  Mr.  Kinosling.  "Perhaps  I  may  request  the 
little  gentleman " 

"E'gr-T-ruff!"  coughed  Mr.  Schofield.  "You'd 
better  change  your  mind  about  a  cigar." 

"No,  I  thank  you.  I  was  about  to  request  the 
lit " 

"Do  try  one,"  Margaret  urged.  "I'm  sure  papa's 
are  nice  ones.  Do  try " 

"No,  I  thank  you.  I  remarked  a  slight  coolness 
in  the  air,  and  my  hat  is  in  the  hallway.  I  was  about 
to  request " 

"I'll  get  it  for  you,"  said  Penrod  suddenly. 

"If  you  will  be  so  good,"  said  Mr.  Kinosling. 
"It  is  a  black  bowler  hat,  little  gentleman,  and  placed 
upon  a  table  in  the  hall." 

"I  know  where  it  is."  Penrod  entered  the  door, 
and  a  feeling  of  relief,  mutually  experienced,  carried 
from  one  to  another  of  his  three  relatives  their  inter 
changed  congratulations  that  he  had  recovered  his 
sanity. 

"  'The  day  is  done,  and  the  darkness,' "  began 
Mr.  Kinosling — and  recited  that  poem  entire.  He 
followed  it  with  "The  Children's  Hour,"  and  after 
a  pause,  at  the  close,  to  allow  his  listeners  time  for  a 
little  reflection  upon  his  rendition,  he  passed  his  hand 


TAR  247 

again  over  his  head,  and  called,  in  the  direction  of 
the  doorway : 

"I  believe  I  will  take  my  hat  now,  little  gentle 


man." 


"Here  it  is,"  said  Penrod,  unexpectedly  climbing 
over  the  porch  railing,  in  the  other  direction.  His 
mother  and  father  and  Margaret  had  supposed  him 
to  be  standing  in  the  hallway  out  of  deference,  and 
because  he  thought  it  tactful  not  to  interrupt  the 
recitations.  All  of  them  remembered,  later,  that 
this  supposed  thoughtfulness  on  his  part  struck 
them  as  unnatural. 

"Very  good,  little  gentleman !"  said  Mr.  Kinosling, 
and  being  somewhat  chilled,  placed  the  hat  firmly 
upon  his  head,  pulling  it  down  as  far  as  it  would  go. 
It  had  a  pleasant  warmth,  which  he  noticed  at  once. 
The  next  instant,  he  noticed  something  else,  a  pe 
culiar  sensation  of  the  scalp — a  sensation  which  he 
was  quite  unable  to  define.  He  lifted  his  hand  to  take 
the  hat  off,  and  entered  upon  a  strange  experience: 
his  hat  seemed  to  have  decided  to  remain  where  it  was. 

"Do  you  like  Tennyson  as  much  as  Longfellow, 
Mr.  Kinosling?"  inquired  Margaret. 

"I — ah — I  cannot  say,"  he  returned  absently.  "I 
— ah — each  has  his  own — ugh!  flavour  and  savour, 
each  his — ah — ah " 

Struck  by  a  strangeness  in  his  tone,  she  peered 
at  him  curiously  through  the  dusk.  His  outlines 
were  indistinct,  but  she  made  out  that  his  arms  were 


248  PENROD 

uplifted  in  a  singular  gesture.  He  seemed  to  be 
wrenching  at  his  head. 

"Is — is  anything  the  matter?"  she  asked  anx 
iously.  "Mr.  Kinosling,  are  you  ill?" 

"Not  at — ugh! — all,"  he  replied,  in  the  same  odd 
tone.  "I — ah — I  believe — ugh!" 

He  dropped  his  hands  from  his  hat,  and  rose. 
His  manner  was  slightly  agitated.  "I  fear  I  may 
have  taken  a  trifling — ah — cold.  I  should — ah — 
perhaps  be — ah — better  at  home.  I  will — ah — say 
good-night." 

At  the  steps,  he  instinctively  lifted  his  hand  to 
remove  his  hat,  but  did  not  do  so,  and,  saying  "Good 
night,"  again  in  a  frigid  voice,  departed  with  visible 
stiffness  from  that  house,  to  return  no  more. 

"Well,  of  all !"  cried  Mrs.  Schofield, 

astounded.  "What  was  the  matter?  He  just  went — 
like  that !"  She  made  a  flurried  gesture.  "In  heav 
en's  name,  Margaret,  what  did  you  say  to  him?" 

"//"  exclaimed  Margaret  indignantly.  "Nothing ! 
He  just  went!" 

"Why,  he  didn't  even  take  off  his  hat  when  he 
said  good-night!"  said  Mrs.  Schofield. 

Margaret,  who  had  crossed  to  the  doorway,  caught 
the  ghost  of  a  whisper  behind  her,  where  stood 
Penrod. 

"You  bet  he  didn't!" 

He  knew  not  that  he  was  overheard. 

A  frightful  suspicion  flashed  through  Margaret's 


TAR  249 

mind — a  suspicion  that  Mr.  Kinosling's  hat  would 
have  to  be  either  boiled  off  or  shaved  off.  With 
growing  horror  she  recalled  Penrod's  long  absence 
when  he  went  to  bring  the  hat. 

"Penrod,"  she  cried,  "let  me  see  your  hands!" 

She  had  toiled  at  those  hands  herself  late  that 
afternoon,  nearly  scalding  her  own,  but  at  last 
achieving  a  lily  purity. 

"Let  me  see  your  hands !" 

She  seized  them. 

Again  they  were  tarred ! 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE    QUIET   AFTERNOON 

PERHAPS  middle-aged  people  might  discern 
Nature's  real  intentions  in  the  matter  of 
pain  if  they  would  examine  a  boy's  punish 
ments  and  sorrows,  for  he  prolongs  neither  beyond 
their  actual  duration.  With  a  boy,  trouble  must  be 
of  Homeric  dimensions  to  last  overnight.  To  him, 
every  next  day  is  really  a  new  day.  Thus,  Penrod 
woke,  next  morning,  with  neither  the  unspared  rod, 
nor  Mr.  Kinosling  in  his  mind.  Tar,  itself,  so  far 
as  his  consideration  of  it  went,  might  have  been  an 
undiscovered  substance.  His  mood  was  cheerful 
and  mercantile;  some  process  having  worked  mys- 

250 


THE  QUIET  AFTERNOON  251 

teriously  within  him,  during  the  night,  to  the  result 
that  his  first  waking  thought  was  of  profits  connected 
with  the  sale  of  old  iron — or  perhaps  a  ragman  had 
passed  the  house,  just  before  he  woke. 

By  ten  o'clock  he  had  formed  a  partnership  with 
the  indeed  amiable  Sam,  and  the  firm  of  Schofield 
and  Williams  plunged  headlong  into  commerce. 
Heavy  dealings  in  rags,  paper,  old  iron  and  lead 
gave  the  firm  a  balance  of  twenty-two  cents  on  the 
evening  of  the  third  day ;  but  a  venture  in  glassware, 
following,  proved  disappointing  on  account  of  the 
scepticism  of  all  the  druggists  in  that  part  of  town, 
even  after  seven  laborious  hours  had  been  spent  in 
cleansing  a  wheelbarrow-load  of  old  medicine  bottles 
with  hydrant  water  and  ashes.  Likewise,  the  part 
ners  were  disheartened  by  their  failure  to  dispose  of  a 
crop  of  "greens,"  although  they  had  uprooted  speci 
mens  of  that  decorative  and  unappreciated  flower, 
the  dandelion,  with  such  persistence  and  energy  that 
the  Schofields'  and  Williams'  lawns  looked  curiously 
haggard  for  the  rest  of  that  summer. 

The  fit  passed:  business  languished;  became  ex 
tinct.  The  dog-days  had  set  in. 

One  August  afternoon  was  so  hot  that  even  boys 
sought  indoor  shade.  In  the  dimness  of  the  vacant 
carriage-house  of  the  stable,  lounged  Masters  Penrod 
Schofield,  Samuel  Williams,  Maurice  Levy,  Georgie 
Bassett,  and  Herman.  They  sat  still  and  talked.  It 
is  a  hot  day,  in  rare  truth,  when  boys  devote  them- 


PENROD 

selves  principally  to  conversation,  and  this  day  was 
that  hot. 

Their  elders  should  beware  such  days.  Peril 
hovers  near  when  the  fierceness  of  weather  forces 
inaction  and  boys  in  groups  are  quiet.  The  more 
closely  volcanoes,  Western  rivers,  nitroglycerin,  and 
boys  are  pent,  the  deadlier  is  their  action  at  the 
point  of  outbreak.  Thus,  parents  and  guardians 
should  look  for  outrages  of  the  most  singular  violence 
and  of  the  most  peculiar  nature  during  the  confining 
weather  of  February  and  August. 

The  thing  which  befell  upon  this  broiling  after 
noon  began  to  brew  and  stew  peacefully  enough.  All 
was  innocence  and  languor ;  no  one  could  have  fore 
told  the  eruption. 

They  were  upon  their  great  theme:  "When  I 
get  to  be  a  man !"  Being  human,  though  boys,  they 
considered  their  present  estate  too  commonplace  to 
be  dwelt  upon.  So,  when  the  old  men  gather,  they 
say:  "When  I  was  a  boy!"  It  really  is  the  land  of 
nowadays  that  we  never  discover. 

"When  I'm  a  man,"  said  Sam  Williams,  "I'm 
goin'  to  hire  me  a  couple  of  coloured  waiters  to  swing 
me  in  a  hammock  and  keep  pourin'  ice-water  on  me 
all  day  out  o'  those  waterin'-cans  they  sprinkle 
flowers  from.  I'll  hire  you  for  one  of  'em,  Her 
man." 

"No;  you  am'  goin'  to,"  said  Herman  promptly. 
"You  ain'  no  flowuh.  But  nev'  min'  nat,  anyway. 


THE  QUIET  AFTERNOON  253 

Ain'  nobody  goin'  haih  me  whens  7'm  a  man.  Goin' 
be  my  own  boss.  7'm  go'  be  a  rai'road  man!" 

"You  mean  like  a  superintendent,  or  sumpthing 
like  that,  and  sell  tickets  ?"  asked  Penrod. 

"Sup'in — nev'  min'  nat!  Sell  ticket?  No  suh! 
Go'  be  a  po'tuhl  My  uncle  a  po'tuh  right  now. 
Solid  gole  buttons — oh,  oh !" 

"Generals  get  a  lot  more  buttons  than  porters," 
said  Penrod.  "Generals " 

"Po'tuhs  make  the  bes'  livin',"  Herman  inter 
rupted.  "My  uncle  spen'  mo'  money  'n  any  white 
man  n'is  town." 

"Well,  I  rather  be  a  general,"  said  Penrod,  "or 
a  senator,  or  sumpthing  like  that." 

"Senators  live  in  Warshington,"  Maurice  Levy 
contributed  the  information.  "I  been  there.  War 
shington  ain't  so  much;  Niag'ra  Falls  is  a  hundred 
times  as  good  as  Warshington.  So's  'Tlantic  City, 
I  was  there,  too.  I  been  everywhere  there  is.  I " 

"Well,  anyway,"  said  Sam  Williams,  raising  his 
voice  in  order  to  obtain  the  floor,  "anyway,  I'm  goin' 
to  lay  in  a  hammock  all  day,  and  have  ice-water 
sprinkled  on  top  o'  me,  and  I'm  goin'  to  lay  there 
all  night,  too,  and  the  next  day.  I'm  goin'  to  lay 
there  a  couple  o'  years,  maybe." 

"I  bet  you  don't!"  exclaimed  Maurice.  "What'd 
you  do  in  winter?" 

"What?" 

"What  you  goin'  to  do  when  it's  winter,  out  in  a 


PENROD 

hammock  with  water  sprinkled  on  top  o'  you  all 
day?  I  bet  you " 

"I'd  stay  right  there,"  Sam  declared,  with  strong 
conviction,  blinking  as  he  looked  out  through  the 
open  doors  at  the  dazzling  lawn  and  trees,  trembling 
in  the  heat.  "They  couldn't  sprinkle  too  much  for 
me!" 

"It'd  make  icicles  all  over  you,  and " 

"I  wish  it  would,"  said  Sam.     "I'd  eat  'em  up." 

"And  it'd  snow  on  you " 

"Yay!  I'd  swaller  it  as  fast  as  it'd  come  down. 
I  wish  I  had  a  barrel  o'  snow  right  now.  I  wish  this 
whole  barn  was  full  of  it.  I  wish  they  wasn't  any 
thing  in  the  whole  world  except  just  good  ole  snow." 

Penrod  and  Herman  rose  and  went  out  to  the 
hydrant,  where  they  drank  long  and  ardently.  Sam 
was  still  talking  about  snow  when  they  returned. 

"No,  I  wouldn't  just  roll  in  it.  I'd  stick  it  all 
round  inside  my  clo'es,  and  fill  my  hat.  No,  I'd 
freeze  a  big  pile  of  it  all  hard,  and  I'd  roll  her  out 
flat  and  then  I'd  carry  her  down  to  some  ole  tailor's 
and  have  him  make  me  a  suit  out  of  her,  and " 

"Can't  you  keep  still  about  your  ole  snow?"  de 
manded  Penrod  petulantly.  '"Makes  me  so  thirsty 
I  can't  keep  still,  and  I've  drunk  so  much  now  I  bet 
I  bust.  That  ole  hydrant  water's  mighty  near  hot 
anyway." 

"I'm  goin'  to  have  a  big  store,  when  I  grow  up," 
volunteered  Maurice. 


THE  QUIET  AFTERNOON  255 

"Candy  store?"  asked  Penrod. 

"No,  sir!  I'll  have  candy  in  it,  but  not  to  eat,  so 
much.  It's  goin'  to  be  a  deportment  store:  ladies' 
clothes,  gentlemen's  clothes,  neckties,  china  goods, 
leather  goods,  nice  lines  in  woollings  and  lace 
goods " 

"Yay!  I  wouldn't  give  a  five-for-a-cent  marble 
for  your  whole  store,"  said  Sam.  "Would  you,  Pen- 
rod?" 

"Not  for  ten  of  'em ;  not  for  a  million  of  'em !  I'm 
goin'  to  have " 

"Wait!"  clamoured  Maurice.  "You'd  be  foolish, 
because  they'd  be  a  toy  deportment  in  my  store  where 
they'd  be  a  hunderd  marbles !  So,  how  much  would 
you  think  your  five-for-a-cent  marble  counts  for? 
And  when  I'm  keepin'  my  store  I'm  goin'  to  get 
married." 

"Yay !"  shrieked  Sam  derisively.  "Married!  Lis 
ten!"  Penrod  and  Herman  joined  in  the  howl  of 
contempt. 

"Certumly  I'll  get  married,"  asserted  Maurice 
stoutly.  "I'll  get  married  to  Marjorie  Jones.  She 
likes  me  awful  good,  and  I'm  her  beau." 

"What  makes  you  think  so?"  inquired  Penrod 
in  a  cryptic  voice. 

"Because  she's  my  beau,  too,"  came  the  prompt 
answer.  "I'm  her  beau  because  she's  my  beau;  I 
guess  that's  plenty  reason !  I'll  get  married  to  her  as 
soon  as  I  get  my  store  running  nice." 


256  PENROD 

Penrod  looked  upon  him  darkly,  but,  for  the  mo 
ment,  held  his  peace. 

"Married!"  jeered  Sam  Williams.  "Married  to 
Marjorie  Jones!  You're  the  only  boy  I  ever  heard 
say  he  was  going  to  get  married.  I  wouldn't  get 
married  for — why,  I  wouldn't  for — for "  Un 
able  to  think  of  any  inducement  the  mere  mention  of 
which  would  not  be  ridiculously  incommensurate,  he 
proceeded :  "I  wouldn't  do  it !  What  you  want  to  get 
married  for?  What  do  married  people  do,  except 
just  come  home  tired,  and  worry  around  and  kind 
of  scold?  You  better  not  do  it,  M'rice;  you'll  be 
mighty  sorry." 

"Everybody  gets  married,"  stated  Maurice,  hold 
ing  his  ground.  "They  gotta." 

"I'll  bet  I  don't!"  Sam  returned  hotly.  "They 
better  catch  me  before  they  tell  me  I  have  to.  Any 
way,  I  bet  nobody  has  to  get  married  unless  they 
want  to." 

"They  do,  too,"  insisted  Maurice.    "They  gotta!" 

"Who  told  you?" 

"Look  at  what  my  own  papa  told  me!"  cried 
Maurice,  heated  with  argument.  "Didn't  he  tell 
me  your  papa  had  to  marry  your  mamma,  or  else  he 
never'd  got  to  handle  a  cent  of  her  money?  Cer- 
tumly,  people  gotta  marry.  Everybody.  You  don't 
know  anybody  over  twenty  years  old  that  isn't 
married — except  maybe  teachers." 

"Look  at  policemen !"  shouted  Sam  triumphantly. 


THE  QUIET  AFTERNOON  257 

'You  don't  s'pose  anybody  can  make  policemen  get 
married,  I  reckon,  do  you?" 

"Well,  policemen,  maybe,"  Maurice  was  forced 
to  admit.  "Policemen  and  teachers  don't,  but  every 
body  else  gotta." 

"Well,  I'll  be  a  policeman,"  said  Sam.  "Then,  I 
guess  they  won't  come  around  tellin'  me  I  have  to 
get  married.  What  you  goin'  to  be,  Penrod?" 

"Chief  police,"  said  the  laconic  Penrod. 

"What  you?"  Sam  inquired  of  quiet  Georgie 
Bassett. 

"I  am  going  to  be,"  said  Georgie,  consciously,  "a 
minister." 

This  announcement  created  a  sensation  so  pro 
found  that  it  was  followed  by  silence.  Herman  was 
the  first  to  speak. 

"You  mean  preachuh?"  he  asked  incredulously. 
"You  go'  preach?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Georgie,  looking  like  Saint  Ce' 
cilia  at  the  organ. 

Herman  was  impressed.  "You  know  all  'at 
preachuh  talk?" 

"I'm  going  to  learn  it,"  said  Georgie  simply. 

"How  loud  kin  you  holler?"  asked  Herman  doubt 
fully. 

"He  can't  holler  at  all,"  Penrod  interposed  with 
scorn.  "He  hollers  like  a  girl.  He's  the  poorest 
hollerer  in  town!" 

Herman  shook  his  head.     Evidently  he  thought 


258  PENROD 

Georgie's  chance  of  being  ordained  very  slender, 
Nevertheless,  a  final  question  put  to  the  candidate  by 
the  coloured  expert  seemed  to  admit  one  ray  of  hope. 

"How  good  kin  you  clim  a  pole?" 

"He  can't  climb  one  at  all,"  Penrod  answered  for 
Georgie.  "Over  at  Sam's  turning-pole  you  ought  to 
see  him  try  to " 

"Preachers  don't  have  to  climb  poles,"  Georgie 
said  with  dignity. 

"Good  ones  do,"  declared  Herman.  "Bes'  one  ev' 
/  hear,  he  clim  up  an'  down  same  as  a  circus  man. 
One  n'em  big  'vivals  outen  whens  we  livin'  on  a 
f  ahm,  preachuh  clim  big  pole  right  in  a  middle  o'  the 
church,  what  was  to  hoi'  roof  up.  He  clim  way  high 
up,  an'  holler:  'Goin'  to  heavum,  goin'  to  heavum, 
goin'  to  heavum  now.  Hallelu j  ah,  praise  my  Lawd !' 
An'  he  slide  down  little,  an'  holler:  'Devil's  got  a 
hoi'  o'  my  coat-tails;  devil  tryin'  to  drag  me  down! 
Sinnuhs,  take  wawnun !  Devil  got  a  hoi'  o'  my  coat- 
tails;  I'm  a-goin'  to  hell,  oh  Lawd!'  Nex',  he  clim 
up  little  mo',  an'  yell  an'  holler:  'Done  shuck  ole 
devil  loose;  goin'  straight  to  heavum  agin!  Goin' 
to  heavum,  goin'  to  heavum,  my  Lawd!'  Nex',  he 
slide  down  some  mo'  an'  holler,  'Leggo  my  coat- 
tails,  ole  devil!  Goin'  to  hell  agin,  sinnuhs!  Goin' 
straight  to  hell,  my  Lawd!'  An'  he  clim  an'  he 
slide,  an'  he  slide,  an'  he  clim,  an'  all  time  holler: 
'Now  'm  a-goin'  to  heavum;  now  'm  a-goin'  to  helli 
Goin'  to  heavum,  heavum,  heavum,  my  Lawd !'  Las' 


THE  QUIET  AFTERNOON  259 

he  slide  all  a-way  down,  jes'  a-squallin'  an'  a-kickin' 
an'  a-rarin'  up  an'  squealin',  'Goin'  to  hell.  Goin'  to 
hell !  Ole  Saturn  got  my  soul !  Goin'  to  hell !  Goin' 
to  hell!  Goin' to  hell,  hell,  hell!" 

Herman  possessed  that  extraordinary  facility  for 
vivid  acting  which  is  the  great  native  gift  of  his  race, 
and  he  enchained  his  listeners.  They  sat  fascinated 
and  spellbound. 

"Herman,  tell  that  again!"  said  Penrod,  breath 
lessly. 

Herman,  nothing  loath,  accepted  the  encore  and 
repeated  the  Miltonic  episode,  expanding  it  some 
what,  and  dwelling  with  a  fine  art  upon  those  portions 
of  the  narrative  which  he  perceived  to  be  most  excit 
ing  to  his  audience.  Plainly,  they  thrilled  less  to 
Paradise  gained  than  to  its  losing,  and  the  dreadful 
climax  of  the  descent  into  the  Pit  was  the  greatest 
treat  of  all. 

The  effect  was  immense  and  instant.  Penrod 
sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Georgie  Bassett  couldn't  do  that  to  save  his 
life,"  he  declared.  "7'm  goin'  to  be  a  preacher! 
Fd  be  all  right  for  one,  wouldn't  I,  Herman?" 

"So  am  I!"  Sam  Williams  echoed  loudly.  "I 
guess  I  can  do  it  if  you  can.  I'd  be  better'n  Penrod, 
wouldn't  I,  Herman?" 

"I  am,  too !"  Maurice  shouted.  "I  got  a  stronger 
voice  than  anybody  here,  a»d  I'd  like  to  know 


260  PENROD 

The  three  clamoured  together  indistinguishably, 
each  asserting  his  qualifications  for  the  ministry 
according  to  Herman's  theory,  which  had  been  ac 
cepted  by  these  sudden  converts  without  question. 

"Listen  to  me!"  Maurice  bellowed,  proving  his 
claim  to  at  least  the  voice  by  drowning  the  others. 
"Maybe  I  can't  climb  a  pole  so  good,  but  who  can 
holler  louder'n  this?  Listen  to  me-e-e!" 

"Shut  up!"  cried  Penrod,  irritated.  "Go  to 
heaven ;  go  to  hell !" 

"Oo-o-oh !"  exclaimed  Georgie  Bassett,  profoundly 
shocked. 

Sam  and  Maurice,  awed  by  Penrod's  daring,  ceased 
from  turmoil,  staring  wide-eyed. 

"You  cursed  and  swore!"  said  Georgie. 

"I  did  not!"  cried  Penrod,  hotly.  "That  isn't 
swearing." 

"You  said,  'Go  to  a  big  H' !"  said  Georgie. 

"I  did  not!  I  said,  'Go  to  heaven,'  before  I  said 
a  big  H.  That  isn't  swearing,  is  it,  Herman?  It's 
almost  what  the  preacher  said,  ain't  it,  Herman? 
It  ain't  swearing  now,  any  more — not  if  you  put  'go 
to  heaven'  with  it,  is  it,  Herman?  You  can  say  it 
all  you  want  to,  long  as  you  say  'go  to  heaven'  first, 
can't  you,  Herman?  Anybody  can  say  it  if  the 
preacher  says  it,  can't  they,  Herman?  I  guess  I 
know  when  I  ain't  swearing,  don't  I,  Herman?" 

Judge  Herman  ruled  for  the  defendant,  and  Pen- 
rod  was  considered  to  have  carried  his  point.  With 


THE  QUIET  AFTERNOON  261 

fine  consistency,  the  conclave  established  that  it  was 
proper  for  the  general  public  to  "say  it,"  provided 
"go  to  heaven"  should  in  all  cases  precede  it.  This 
prefix  was  pronounced  a  perfect  disinfectant,  re 
moving  all  odour  of  impiety  or  insult ;  and,  with  the 
exception  of  Georgie  Bassett  (who  maintained  that 
the  minister's  words  were  "going"  and  "gone,"  not 
ug°")>  all  the  boys  proceeded  to  exercise  their  new 
privilege  so  lavishly  that  they  tired  of  it. 

But  there  was  no  diminution  of  evangelical  ar 
dour  ;  again  were  heard  the  clamours  of  dispute  as  to 
which  was  the  best  qualified  for  the  ministry,  each 
of  the  claimants  appealing  passionately  to  Herman, 
who,  pleased  but  confused,  appeared  to  be  incapable 
of  arriving  at  a  decision. 

During  a  pause,  Georgie  Bassett  asserted  his  prior 
rights.  "Who  said  it  first,  I'd  like  to  know?"  he 
demanded.  "I  was  going  to  be  a  minister  from  long 
back  of  to-day,  I  guess.  And  I  guess  I  said  I  was 
going  to  be  a  minister  right  to-day  before  any  of  you 
said  anything  at  all.  Didn't  I,  Herman?  You 
heard  me,  didn't  you,  Herman?  That's  the  very 
thing  started  you  talking  about  it,  wasn't  it,  Her 
man?" 

"You'  right,"  said  Herman.  "You  the  firs'  one  to 
say  it." 

Penrod,  Sam,  and  Maurice  immediately  lost  faith 
in  Herman.  They  turned  from  him  and  fell  hotly 
upon  Georgie. 


262  PENROD 

"What  if  you  did  say  it  first?"  Penrod  shouted. 
"You  couldn't  be  a  minister  if  you  were  a  hunderd 
years  old !" 

"I  bet  his  mother  wouldn't  let  him  be  one,"  said 
Sam.  "She  never  lets  him  do  anything." 

"She  would,  too,"  retorted  Georgie.  "Ever  since 
I  was  little,  she " 

"He's  too  sissy  to  be  a  preacher!"  cried  Maurice. 
"Listen  at  his  squeaky  voice!" 

"I'm  going  to  be  a  better  minister,"  shouted 
Georgie,  "than  all  three  of  you  put  together.  I 
could  do  it  with  my  left  hand !" 

The  three  laughed  bitingly  in  chorus.  They 
jeered,  derided,  scoffed,  and  raised  an  uproar  which 
would  have  had  its  effect  upon  much  stronger  nerves 
than  Georgie's.  For  a  time  he  contained  his  rising 
choler  and  chanted  monotonously,  over  and  over: 
"/  could!  I  could,  too!  I  could!  I  could,  too!" 
But  their  tumult  wore  upon  him,  and  he  decided  to 
avail  himself  of  the  recent  decision  whereby  a  big 
H  was  rendered  innocuous  and  unprofane.  Hav 
ing  used  the  expression  once,  he  found  it  com 
forting,  and  substituted  it  for:  "I  could!  I  could, 
too!" 

But  it  relieved  him  only  temporarily.  His  tor 
mentors  were  unaffected  by  it  and  increased  their 
howlings,  until  at  last  Georgie  lost  his  head  alto 
gether.  Badgered  beyond  bearing,  his  eyes  shining 
with  a  wild  light,  he  broke  through  the  besieging 


THE  QUIET  AFTERNOON  263 

trio,  hurling  little  Maurice  from  his  path  with  a 
frantic  hand. 

"I'll  show  you!"  he  cried,  in  this  sudden  frenzy. 
"You  give  me  a  chance,  and  I'll  prove  it  right  now!" 

"That's  talkin'  business!"  shouted  Penrod. 
"Everybody  keep  still  a  minute.  Everybody!" 

He  took  command  of  the  situation  at  once,  dis 
playing  a  fine  capacity  for  organization  and  system. 
It  needed  only  a  few  minutes  to  set  order  in  the 
place  of  confusion  and  to  determine,  with  the  full 
concurrence  of  all  parties,  the  conditions  under  which 
Georgie  Bassett  was  to  defend  his  claim  by  under 
going  what  may  be  perhaps  intelligibly  defined  as 
the  Herman  test.  Georgie  declared  he  could  do  it 
easily.  He  was  in  a  state  of  great  excitement  and 
in  no  condition  to  think  calmly  or,  probably,  he 
would  not  have  made  the  attempt  at  all.  Certainly 
he  was  overconfident. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

CONCLUSION    OF    THE    QUIET    AFTERNOON 

IT  WAS  during  the  discussion  of  the  details  of 
this  enterprise  that  Georgie's  mother,  a  short 
distance  down  the  street,  received  a  few  female 
callers,  who  came  by  appointment  to  drink  a  glass 
of  iced  tea  with  her,  and  to  meet  the  Rev.  Mr.  Kin- 
osling.  Mr.  Kinosling  was  proving  almost  formid 
ably  interesting  to  the  women  and  girls  of  his  own 
and  other  flocks.  What  favour  of  his  fellow  clergy 
men  a  slight  precociousness  of  manner  and  pronun 
ciation  cost  him  was  more  than  balanced  by  the  visi 
ble  ecstasies  of  ladies.  They  blossomed  at  his  touch. 

264 


ITS  CONCLUSION  265 

He  had  just  entered  Mrs.  Bassett's  front  door, 
when  the  son  of  the  house,  followed  by  an  intent 
and  earnest  company  of  four,  opened  the  alley  gate 
and  came  into  the  yard.  The  unconscious  Mrs, 
Bassett  was  about  to  have  her  first  experience  of  a 
fatal  coincidence.  It  was  her  first,  because  she  was 
the  mother  of  a  boy  so  well  behaved  that  he  had 
become  a  proverb  of  transcendency.  Fatal  coin 
cidences  were  plentiful  in  the  Schofield  and  Williams 
families,  and  would  have  been  familiar  to  Mrs. 
Bassett  had  Georgie  been  permitted  greater  inti 
macy  with  Penrod  and  Sam. 

Mr.  Kinosling  sipped  his  iced  tea  and  looked  about 
him  approvingly.  Seven  ladies  leaned  forward,  for 
it  was  to  be  seen  that  he  meant  to  speak. 

"This  cool  room  is  a  relief,"  he  said,  waving  a 
graceful  hand  in  a  neatly  limited  gesture,  which 
everybody's  eyes  followed,  his  own  included.  "It  is 
a  relief  and  a  retreat.  The  windows  open,  the  blinds 
closed — that  is  as  it  should  be.  It  is  a  retreat,  a 
fastness,  a  bastion  against  the  heat's  assault.  For 
me,  a  quiet  room — a  quiet  room  and  a  book,  a  volume 
in  the  hand,  held  lightly  between  the  fingers.  A  vol 
ume  of  poems,  lines  metrical  and  cadenced;  some 
thing  by  a  sound  Victorian.  We  have  no  later 
poets." 

"Swinburne?"  suggested  Miss  Beam,  an  eager 
spinster.  "Swinburne,  Mr.  Kinosling?  Ah,  Swin- 
burner 


266  PENROD 

"Not  Swinburne,"  said  Mr.  Kinosling  chastely. 
"No." 

That  concluded  all  the  remarks  about  Swinburne. 


Miss  Beam  retired  in  confusion  behind  another 
lady;  and  somehow  there  became  diffused  an  im 
pression  that  Miss  Beam  was  erotic. 

"I  do  not  observe  your  manly  little  son,"  Mr. 
Kinosling  addressed  his  hostess. 

"He's  out  playing  in  the  yard,"  Mrs.  Bassett  re 
turned.  "I  heard  his  voice  just  now,  I  think." 

"Everywhere  I  hear  wonderful  report  of  him,'* 
said  Mr.  Kinosling.  "I  may  say  that  I  understand 
boys,  and  I  feel  that  he  is  a  rare,  a  fine,  a  pure,  a 
lofty  spirit.  I  say  spirit,  for  spirit  is  the  word  I 
hear  spoken  of  him." 

A  chorus  of  enthusiastic  approbation  affirmed  the 
accuracy  of  this  proclamation,  and  Mrs.  Bassett 
flushed  with  pleasure.  Georgie's  spiritual  perfection 
was  demonstrated  by  instances  of  it,  related  by  the 
visitors;  his  piety  was  cited,  and  wonderful  things 
he  had  said  were  quoted. 

"Not  all  boys  are  pure,  of  fine  spirit,  of  high 
mind,"  said  Mr.  Kinosling,  and  continued  with  true 
feeling:  "You  have  a  neighbour,  dear  Mrs.  Bassett* 
whose  household  I  indeed  really  feel  it  quite  impos 
sible  to  visit  until  such  time  when  better,  firmer, 
stronger  handed,  more  determined  discipline  shaD 


ITS  CONCLUSION  26*7 

prevail.  I  find  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Schofield  and  their 
daughter  charming " 

Three  or  four  ladies  said  "Oh !"  and  spoke  a  name 
simultaneously.  It  was  as  if  they  had  said,  "Oh, 
the  bubonic  plague !" 

"Oh!     Penrod  Schofield!" 

"Georgie  does  not  play  with  him,"  said  Mrs. 
Bassett  quickly — "that  is,  he  avoids  him  as  much  as 
he  can  without  hurting  Penrod's  feelings.  Georgie 
is  very  sensitive  to  giving  pain.  I  suppose  a  mother 
should  not  tell  these  things,  and  I  know  people  who 
talk  about  their  own  children  are  dreadful  bores,  but 
it  was  only  last  Thursday  night  that  Georgie  looked 
up  in  my  face  so  sweetly,  after  he  had  said  his 
prayers  and  his  little  cheeks  flushed,  as  he  said: 
"Mamma,  I  think  it  would  be  right  for  me  to  go  more 
with  Penrod.  I  think  it  would  make  him  a  better 
boy." 

A  sibilance  went  about  the  room.  "Sweet!  How 
sweet !  The  sweet  little  soul !  Ah,  sweet!" 

"And  that  very  afternoon,"  continued  Mrs.  Bas 
sett,  "he  had  come  home  in  a  dreadful  state,  Penrod 
had  thrown  tar  all  over  him." 

"Your  son  has  a  forgiving  spirit!"  said  Mr.  Kin- 
osling  with  vehemence.  "A  too  forgiving  spirit, 
perhaps."  He  set  down  his  glass.  "No  more,  I 
thank  you.  No  more  cake,  I  thank  you.  Was  it  not 
Cardinal  Newman  who  said " 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  sounds  of  an  altercation 


268  PENROD 

just  outside  the  closed  blinds  of  the  window  nearest 
him. 

"Let  him  pick  his  tree!"  It  was  the  voice  of 
Samuel  Williams.  "Didn't  we  come  over  here  to  give 
him  one  of  his  own  trees  ?  Give  him  a  fair  show,  can't 
you?" 

"The  little  lads !"  Mr.  Kinosling  smiled.  "They 
have  their  games,  their  outdoor  sports,  their  pastimes. 
The  young  muscles  are  toughening.  The  sun  will 
not  harm  them.  They  grow;  they  expand;  they 
learn.  They  learn  fair  play,  honour,  courtesy,  from 
one  another,  as  pebbles  grow  round  in  the  brook. 
They  learn  more  from  themselves  than  from  us. 
They  take  shape,  form,  outline.  Let  them." 

"Mr.  Kinosling!"  Another  spinster— undeterred 
by  what  had  happened  to  Miss  Beam — leaned  far 
forward,  her  face  shining  and  ardent.  "Mr.  Kin^ 
osling,  there's  a  question  I  do  wish  to  ask  you." 

"My  dear  Miss  Cosslit,"  Mr.  Kinosling  responded, 
again  waving  his  hand  and  watching  it,  "I  am  en 
tirely  at  your  disposal." 

66  Was  Joan  of  Arc,"  she  asked  fervently,  "inspired 
by  spirits?" 

He  smiled  indulgently.  "Yes — and  no,"  he  said. 
"One  must  give  both  answers.  One  must  give  the 
answer,  yes ;  one  must  give  the  answer,  no." 

"Oh,  thank  you!"  said  Miss  Cossiit,  blushing. 
"She's  one  of  my  great  enthusiasms,  you  know." 

"And  I  have  a  question,  too,"  urged  Mrs.  Lora 


ITS  CONCLUSION  269 

Rewbush,  after  a  moment's  hasty  concentration. 
"I've  never  been  able  to  settle  it  for  myself,  but 
now " 

"Yes?"  said  Mr.  Kinosling  encouragingly. 

"Is — ah — is — oh,  yes:  Is  Sanskrit  a  more  diffi 
cult  language  than  Spanish,  Mr.  Kinosling?" 

"It  depends  upon  the  student,"  replied  the  oracle 
smiling.  "One  must  not  look  for  linguists  every 
where.  In  my  own  especial  case — if  one  may  cite 
one's  self  as  an  example — I  found  no  great,  no  in 
surmountable  difficulty  in  mastering,  in  conquering 
either." 

"And  may  I  ask  one?"  ventured  Mrs.  Bassett. 
"Do  you  think  it  is  right  to  wear  egrets?" 

"There  are  marks  of  quality,  of  caste,  of  social 
distinction,"  Mr.  Kinosling  began,  "which  must  be 
permitted,  allowed,  though  perhaps  regulated.  So 
cial  distinction,  one  observes,  almost  invariably 
implies  spiritual  distinction  as  well.  Distinction  of 
circumstances  is  accompanied  by  mental  distinction. 
Distinction  is  hereditary;  it  descends  from  father 
to  son,  and  if  there  is  one  thing  more  true  than 
'Like  father,  like  son,'  it  is — "  he  bowed  gallantly 
to  Mrs.  Bassett — "it  is,  'Like  mother,  like  son.' 
What  these  good  ladies  have  said  this  afternoon  of 
your " 

This  was  the  fatal  instant.  There  smote  upon 
all  ears  the  voice  of  Georgie,  painfully  shrill  and 
penetrating — fraught  with  protest  and  protracted 


270  PENROD 

strain.  His  plain  words  consisted  of  the  newly  sanc 
tioned  and  disinfected  curse  with  a  big  H. 

With  an  ejaculation  of  horror,  Mrs.  Bassett 
sprang  to  the  window  and  threw  open  the  blinds. 

Georgie's  back  was  disclosed  to  the  view  of  the 
tea-party.  He  was  endeavouring  to  ascend  a  maple 
tree  about  twelve  feet  from  the  window.  Embrac 
ing  the  trunk  with  arms  and  legs,  he  had  managed 
to  squirm  to  a  point  above  the  heads  of  Penrod  and 
Herman,  who  stood  close  by,  watching  him  earnestly 
— Penrod  being  obviously  in  charge  of  the  perform 
ance.  Across  the  yard  were  Sam  Williams  and 
Maurice  Levy,  acting  as  a  jury  on  the  question  of 
voice-power,  and  it  was  to  a  complaint  of  theirs  that 
Georgie  had  just  replied. 

"That's  right,  Georgie,"  said  Penrod  encourag 
ingly.  "They  can,  too,  hear  you.  Let  her  go!" 

"Going  to  heaven!"  shrieked  Georgie,  squirming 
up  another  inch.  "Going  to  heaven,  heaven,  heaven !" 

His  mother's  frenzied  attempts  to  attract  his  at 
tention  failed  utterly.  Georgie  was  using  the  full 
power  of  his  lungs,  deafening  his  own  ears  to  all 
other  sounds.  Mrs.  Bassett  called  in  vain;  while 
the  tea-party  stood  petrified  in  a  cluster  about  the 
window. 

"Going  to  heaven!"  Georgie  bellowed.  "Going 
to  heaven!  Going  to  heaven,  my  Lord!  Going  to 
heaven,  heaven,  heaven!" 

He  tried  to  climb  higher,  but  began  to  slip  down- 


ITS  CONCLUSION  271 

ward,  his  exertions  causing  damage  to  his  apparel. 
A  button  flew  into  the  air,  and  his  knickerbockers 
and  his  waistband  severed  relations. 

"Devil's  got  my  coat-tails,  sinners!  Old  devil's 
got  my  coat-tails !"  he  announced  appropriately. 
Then  he  began  to  slide.  He  relaxed  his  clasp  of  the 
tree  and  slid  to  the  ground. 

"Going  to  hell !"  shrieked  Georgie,  reaching  a  high 
pitch  of  enthusiasm  in  this  great  climax.  "Going  to 
hell!  Going  to  hell!  I'm  gone  to  hell,  hell,  hell!" 

With  a  loud  scream,  Mrs.  Bassett  threw  herself 
out  of  the  window,  alighting  by  some  miracle  upon 
her  feet  with  ankles  unsprained. 

Mr.  Kinosling,  feeling  that  his  presence  as  spirit 
ual  adviser  was  demanded  in  the  yard,  followed  with 
greater  dignity  through  the  front  door.  At  the 
corner  of  the  house  a  small  departing  figure  collided 
with  him  violently.  It  was  Penrod,  tactfully  with 
drawing  from  what  promised  to  be  a  family  scene 
t)f  unusual  painfulness. 

Mr.  Kinosling  seized  him  by  the  shoulders  and, 
giving  way  to  emotion,  shook  him  viciously. 

"You  horrible  boy!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Kinosling. 
"You  ruffianly  creature !  Do  you  know  what's  going 
to  happen  to  you  when  you  grow  up?  Do  you 
realize  what  you're  going  to  be!" 

With  flashing  eyes,  the  indignant  boy  made  knowr 
his  unshaken  purpose.  He  shouted  the  reply: 

"A  minister!" 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

TWEL.VF 


1 


"\EEIS  busy  globe  which  spawns  us  is  as  inca 
pable  of  flattery  and  as  intent  upon  its  own 
affair,  whatever  that  is,  as  a  gyroscope;  it 
keeps  steadily  whirling  along  its  lawful  track,  and, 
thus  far  seeming  to  hold  a  right  of  way,  spins  dog 
gedly  on,  with  no  perceptible  diminution  of  speed 
to  mark  the  most  gigantic  human  events — it  did 
not  pause  to  pant  and  recuperate  even  when  what 
seemed  to  Penrod  its  principal  purpose  was  accom 
plished,  and  an  enormous  shadow,  vanishing  west 
ward  over  its  surface,  marked  the  dawn  of  his  twelfth 
birthday. 

0* 


TWELVE  273 

To  be  twelve  is  an  attainment  worth  the  struggle. 
A  boy,  just  twelve,  is  like  a  Frenchman  just  elected 
to  the  Academy. 

Distinction  and  honour  wait  upon  him.  Younger 
boys  show  deference  to  a  person  of  twelve:  his 
experience  is  guaranteed,  his  judgment,  therefore, 
mellow;  consequently,  his  influence  is  profound. 
Eleven  is  not  quite  satisfactory:  it  is  only  an  ap 
proach.  Eleven  has  the  disadvantage  of  six,  of  nine 
teen,  of  forty-four,  and  of  sixty-nine.  But,  like 
twelve,  seven  is  an  honourable  age,  and  the  ambition 
to  attain  it  is  laudable.  People  look  forward  to 
being  seven.  Similarly,  twenty  is  worthy,  and  so, 
arbitrarily,  is  twenty -one ;  forty-five  has  great  solid 
ity;  seventy  is  most  commendable  and  each  year 
thereafter  an  increasing  honour.  Thirteen  is  embar 
rassed  by  the  beginnings  of  a  new  colthood ;  the  child 
becomes  a  youth.  But  twelve  is  the  very  top  of 
boyhood. 

Dressing,  that  morning,  Penrod  felt  that  the  world 
was  changed  from  the  world  of  yesterday.  For  one 
thing,  he  seemed  to  own  more  of  it;  this  day  was 
his  day.  And  it  was  a  day  worth  owning ;  the  mid 
summer  sunshine,  pouring  gold  through  his  window, 
came  from  a  cool  sky,  and  a  breeze  moved  pleasantly 
in  his  hair  as  he  leaned  from  the  sill  to  watch  the 
tribe  of  clattering  blackbirds  take  wing,  following 
their  leader  from  the  trees  in  the  yard  to  the  day's 
work  in  the  open  country.  The  blackbirds  were  hisv 


PENROD 

as  the  sunshine  and  the  breeze  were  his,  for  they  all 
belonged  to  the  day  which  was  his  birthday  and 
therefore  most  surely  his.  Pride  suffused  him:  he 
was  twelve! 

His  father  and  his  mother  and  Margaret  seemed 
to  understand  the  difference  between  to-day  and 
yesterday.  They  were  at  the  table  when  he  de 
scended,  and  they  gave  him  a  greeting  which  of  itself 
marked  the  milestone.  Habitually,  his  entrance  into 
a  room  where  his  elders  sat  brought  a  cloud  of  ap 
prehension:  they  were  prone  to  look  up  in  pathetic 
expectancy,  as  if  their  thought  was,  "What  new 
awfulness  is  he  going  to  start  now?"  But  this  morn 
ing  they  laughed;  his  mother  rose  and  kissed  him 
twelve  times,  so  did  Margaret;  and  his  father 
shouted,  "Well,  well!  How's  the  man?" 

Then  his  mother  gave  him  a  Bible  and  "The  Vicar 
of  Wakefield" ;  Margaret  gave  him  a  pair  of  silver- 
mounted  hair  brushes;  and  his  father  gave  him  a 
"Pocket  Atlas"  and  a  small  compass. 

"And  now,  Penrod,"  said  his  mother,  after  break 
fast,  "I'm  going  to  take  you  out  in  the  country  to 
pay  your  birthday  respects  to  Aunt  Sarah  Crim." 

Aunt  Sarah  Crim,  Penrod's  great-aunt,  was  his 
oldest  living  relative.  She  was  ninety,  and  when 
Mrs.  Schofield  and  Penrod  alighted  from  a  carriage 
at  her  gate  they  found  her  digging  with  a  spade  in 
the  garden. 

"I'm  glad  you  brought  him,"  she  said,  desisting 


TWELVE  275 

from  labour.  "Jinny's  baking  a  cake  I'm  going  to 
send  for  his  birthday  party.  Bring  him  in  the  house. 
I've  got  something  for  him." 

She  led  the  way  to  her  "sitting-room,"  which  had 
a  pleasant  smell,  unlike  any  other  smell,  and,  open 
ing  the  drawer  of  a  shining  old  what-not,  took  there 
from  a  boy's  "sling-shot,"  made  of  a  forked  stick, 
two  strips  of  rubber  and  a  bit  of  leather. 

"This  isn't  for  you,"  she  said,  placing  it  in  Pen^ 
rod's  eager  hand.  "No.  It  would  break  all  to 
pieces  the  first  time  you  tried  to  shoot  it,  because 
it  is  thirty-five  years  old.  I  want  to  send  it  back 
to  your  father.  I  think  it's  time.  You  give  it  to 
him  from  me,  and  tell  him  I  say  I  believe  I  can  trust 
him  with  it  now.  I  took  it  away  from  him  thirty- 
five  years  ago,  one  day  after  he'd  killed  my  best  hen 
with  it,  accidentally,  and  broken  a  glass  pitcher  on 
the  back  porch  with  it — accidentally.  He  doesn't 
look  like  a  person  who's  ever  done  things  of  that 
sort,  and  I  suppose  he's  forgotten  it  so  well  that  he 
believes  he  never  did,  but  if  you  give  it  to  him 
from  me  I  think  he'll  remember.  You  look  like 
him,  Penrod.  He  was  anything  but  a  handsome 
boy." 

After  this  final  bit  of  reminiscence — probably 
designed  to  be  repeated  to  Mr.  Schofield — she  dis 
appeared  in  the  direction  of  the  kitchen,  and  re 
turned  with  a  pitcher  of  lemonade  and  a  blue  china 
dish  sweetly  freighted  with  flat  ginger  cookies  of  a^ 


276  PENROD 

composition  that  was  her  own  secret.  Then,  having 
set  this  collation  before  her  guests,  she  presented 
Penrod  with  a  superb,  intricate,  and  very  modern 
machine  of  destructive  capacities  almost  limitless. 
She  called  it  a  pocket-knife. 

"I  suppose  you'll  do  something  horrible  with  it," 
she  said,  composedly.  "I  hear  you  do  that  with 
everything,  anyhow,  so  you  might  as  well  do  it  with 
this,  and  have  more  fun  out  of  it.  They  tell  me 
you're  the  Worst  Boy  in  Town." 

"Oh,  Aunt  Sarah!"  Mrs.  Schofield  lifted  a  pro 
testing  hand. 

"Nonsense!"  said  Mrs.  Grim. 

"But  on  his  birthday !" 

"That's  the  time  to  say  it.  Penrod,  aren't  you 
the  Worst  Boy  in  Town?" 

Penrod,  gazing  fondly  upon  his  knife  and  eating 
cookies  rapidly,  answered  as  a  matter  of  course,  and 
absently,  "Yes'm." 

"Certainly!"  said  Mrs.  Crim.  "Once  you  accept 
a  thing  about  yourself  as  established  and  settled, 
it's  all  right.  Nobody  minds.  Boys  are  just  like 
people,  really." 

"No,  no!"  Mrs.  Schofield  cried,  involuntarily. 

"Yes,  they  are,"  returned  Aunt  Sarah.  "Only 
they're  not  quite  so  awful,  because  they  haven't 
learned  to  cover  themselves  all  over  with  little  pre 
tences.  When  Penrod  grows  up  he'll  be  just  th^ 
same  as  he  is  now,  except  that  whenever  he  does 


TWELVE  277 

what  he  wants  to  do  he'll  tell  himself  and  other 
people  a  little  story  about  it  to  make  his  reason  for 
doing  it  seem  nice  and  pretty  and  noble." 

"No,  I  won't!"  said  Penrod  suddenly. 

"There's  one  cookie  left,"  observed  Aunt  Sarah. 
"Are  you  going  to  eat  it?" 

"Well,"  said  her  great-nephew,  thoughtfully,  "I 
guess  I  better." 

"Why?"  asked  the  old  lady.  "Why  do  you  guess 
you'd  'better'?" 

"Well,"  said  Penrod,  with  a  full  mouth,  "it  might 
get  all  dried  up  if  nobody  took  it,  and  get  thrown 
out  and  wasted." 

"You're  beginning  finely,"  Mrs.  Grim  remarked. 
"A  year  ago  you'd  have  taken  the  cookie  without 
the  same  sense  of  thrift." 

"Ma'am?" 

"Nothing.  I  see  that  you're  twelve  years  old, 
that's  all.  There  are  more  cookies,  Penrod."  She 
went  away,  returning  with  a  fresh  supply  and  the 
observation,  "Of  course,  you'll  be  sick  before  the 
day's  over;  you  might  as  well  get  a  good  start." 

Mrs.  Schofield  looked  thoughtful.  "Aunt  Sarah," 
she  ventured,  "don't  you  really  think  we  improve 
as  we  get  older?" 

"Meaning,"  said  the  old  lady,  "that  Penrod 
hasn't  much  chance  to  escape  the  penitentiary  if  he 
doesn't?  Well,  we  do  learn  to  restrain  ourselves  in 
some  things;  and  there  are  people  who  really  want 


278  PENROD 

someone  else  to  take  the  last  cookie,  though  they 
aren't  very  common.  But  it's  all  right,  the  world 
seems  to  be  getting  on."  She  gazed  whimsically 
upon  her  great-nephew  and  added,  "Of  course,  when 
you  watch  a  boy  and  think  about  him,  it  doesn't 
seem  to  be  getting  on  very  fast." 

Penrod  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair;  he  was  con 
scious  that  he  was  her  topic  but  unable  to  make  out 
whether  or  not  her  observations  were  complimentary ; 
he  inclined  to  think  they  were  not.  Mrs.  Grim  set 
tled  the  question  for  him. 

"I  suppose  Penrod  is  regarded  as  the  neighbour 
hood  curse?" 

"Oh,  no,"  cried  Mrs.  Schofield.     "He " 

"I  dare  say  the  neighbours  are  right,"  continued 
the  old  lady  placidly.  "He's  had  to  repeat  the  his 
tory  of  the  race  and  go  through  all  the  stages  from 
the  primordial  to  barbarism.  You  don't  expect  boys 
to  be  civilized,  do  you?" 

"Well,  I " 

"You  might  as  well  expect  eggs  to  crow.  No; 
you've  got  to  take  boys  as  they  are,  and  learn  to 
know  them  as  they  are." 

"Naturally,  Aunt  Sarah,"  said  Mrs.  Schofield,  *<I 
know  Penrod." 

Aunt  Sarah  laughed  heartily.  "Do  you  think  his 
father  knows  him,  too?" 

"Of  course,  men  are  different,"  Mrs.  Schofield  re- 


TWELVE  279 

turned,  apologetically.     "But  a  mother  knows " 

"Penrod,"  said  Aunt  Sarah,  solemnly,  "does  your 
father  understand  you?" 

"Ma'am?" 

"About  as  much  as  he'd  understand  Sitting  Bull !" 
she  laughed.  "And  I'll  tell  you  what  your  mother 
thinks  you  are,  Penrod.  Her  real  belief  is  that 
you're  a  novice  in  a  convent." 

"Ma'am?" 

"Aunt  Sarah!" 

"I  know  she  thinks  that,  because  whenever  you 
don't  behave  like  a  novice  she's  disappointed  in  you. 
And  your  father  really  believes  that  you're  a  deco 
rous,  well-trained  young  business  man,  and  when 
ever  you  don't  live  up  to  that  standard  you  get  on 
his  nerves  and  he  thinks  you  need  a  walloping.  I'm 
sure  a  day  very  seldom  passes  without  their  both 
saying  they  don't  know  what  on  earth  to  do  with 
you.  Does  whipping  do  you  any  good,  Penrod ?" 

"Ma'am?" 

"Go  on  and  finish  the  lemonade;  there's  about  p 
glassful  left.  Oh,  take  it,  take  it;  and  don't  say 
why!  Of  course  you're  a  little  pig." 

Penrod  laughed  gratefully,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her 
over  the  rim  of  his  uptilted  glass. 

"Fill  yourself  up  uncomfortably,"  said  the  old 
lady.  "You're  twelve  years  old,  and  you  ought  to 
be  happy — if  you  aren't  anything  else.  It's  taken 


£80  PENROD 

over  nineteen  hundred  years  of  Christianity  and  some 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  years  of  other  things  to 
produce  you,  and  there  you  sit!" 

"Ma'am?" 

"It'll  be  your  turn  to  struggle  and  muss  things  up 
for  the  betterment  of  posterity,  soon  enough,"  said 
Aunt  Sarah  Crim.  "Drink  your  lemonade!" 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

FANCHON 

A  NTT  SARAH'S  a  funny  old  lady,"  Penrod 
observed,   on   the  way   back   to   the   town. 
"What's  she  want  me  to  give  papa  this  old 
sling  for?     Last  thing  she  said  was  to  be  sure  not  to 
forget  to  give  it  to  him.     He  don't  want  it ;  and  she 
said,  herself,  it  ain't  any  good.     She's  older  than 
you  or  papa,  isn't  she?" 

"About  fifty  years  older,"  answered  Mrs.  Scho- 
field,  turning  upon  him  a  stare  of  perplexity. 
"Don't  cut  into  the  leather  with  your  new  knife, 

dear;  the  livery  man  might  ask  us  to  pay  if 

No%  I  wouldn't  scrape  the  paint  off,  either — nor  whit- 

281 


282  PENROD 

tie  your  shoe  with  it.  Couldn't  you  put  it  up  until 
we  get  home?" 

"We  goin'  straight  home?" 

"No.  We're  going  to  stop  at  Mrs.  Gelbraith's 
and  ask  a  strange  little  girl  to  come  to  your  party, 
this  afternoon." 

"Who?" 

"Her  name  is  Fanchon.  She's  Mrs.  Gelbraith's 
little  niece." 

"What  makes  her  so  queer?" 

"I  didn't  say  she's  queer." 

"You  said " 

"No;  I  mean  that  she  is  a  stranger.  She  lives 
in  New  York  and  has  come  to  visit  here." 

"What's  she  live  in  New  York  for?" 

"Because  her  parents  live  there.  You  must  be 
very  nice  to  her,  Penrod ;  she  has  been  very  carefully 
brought  up.  Besides,  she  doesn't  know  the  children 
here,  and  you  must  help  to  keep  her  from  feeling 
lonely  at  your  party." 

"Yes'm." 

When  they  reached  Mrs.  Gelbraith's,  Penrod  sat 
patiently  humped  upon  a  gilt  chair  during  the 
lengthy  exchange  of  greetings  between  his  mother 
and  Mrs.  Gelbraith.  That  is  one  of  the  things  a 
boy  must  learn  to  bear:  when  his  mother  meets  a 
compeer  there  is  always  a  long  and  dreary  wait  for 
him,  while  the  two  appear  to  be  using  strange  symbols 
of  speech,  talking  for  the  greater  part,  it  seems  to 


FANCHON  283 

him,  simultaneously,  and  employing  a  wholly  incom 
prehensible  system  of  emphasis  at  other  times  not  in 
vogue.  Penrod  twisted  his  legs,  his  cap  and  his  nose. 

"Here  she  is !"  Mrs.  Gelbraith  cried,  unexpectedly, 
and  a  dark-haired,  demure  person  entered  the  room 
wearing  a  look  of  gracious  social  expectancy.  In 
years  she  was  eleven,  in  manner  about  sixty-five, 
and  evidently  had  lived  much  at  court.  She  per 
formed  a  curtsey  in  acknowledgment  of  Mrs.  Scho- 
field's  greeting,  and  bestowed  her  hand  upon  Penrod, 
who  had  entertained  no  hope  of  such  an  honour, 
showed  his  surprise  that  it  should  come  to  him,  and 
was  plainly  unable  to  decide  what  to  do  about  it. 

"Fanchon,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Gelbraith,  "take 
Penrod  out  in  the  yard  for  a  while,  and  play." 

"Let  go  the  little  girl's  hand,  Penrod,"  Mrs.  Scho- 
field  laughed,  as  the  children  turned  toward  the  door. 

Penrod  hastily  dropped  the  small  hand,  and  ex 
claiming,  with  simple  honesty,  "Why,  /  don't  want 
it!"  followed  Fanchon  out  into  the  sunshiny  yard, 
where  they  came  to  a  halt  and  surveyed  each  other. 

Penrod  stared  awkwardly  at  Fanchon,  no  other 
occupation  suggesting  itself  to  him,  while  Fanchon, 
with  the  utmost  coolness,  made  a  very  thorough  visual 
examination  of  Penrod,  favouring  him  with  an  esti 
mating  scrutiny  which  lasted  until  he  literally  wig 
gled.  Finally,  she  spoke. 

"Where  do  you  buy  your  ties?"  she  asked. 

"What?" 


284  PENROD 

"Where  do  you  buy  your  neckties?  Papa  gets 
his  at  Skoone's.  You  ought  to  get  yours  there.  I'm 
sure  the  one  you're  wearing  isn't  from  Skoone's." 

"Skoone's?"  Penrod  repeated.     "Skoone's?" 

"On  Fifth  Avenue,"  said  Fanchon.  "It's  a  very 
smart  shop,  the  men  say." 

"Men?"  echoed  Penrod,  in  a  hazy  whisper. 
"Men?" 

"Where  do  your  people  go  in  summer?"  inquired 
the  lady.  "We  go  to  Long  Shore,  but  so  many 
middle-class  people  have  begun  coming  there,  mamma 
thinks  of  leaving.  The  middle  classes  are  simply 
awful,  don't  you  think?" 

"What?" 

"They're  so  boor  jaw.  You  speak  French,  of 
course?" 

"Me?" 

"We  ran  over  to  Paris  last  year.  It's  lovely,  don't 
you  think?  Don't  you  love  the  Rue  de  la  Paix?" 

Penrod  wandered  in  a  labyrinth.  This  girl  seemed 
to  be  talking,  but  her  words  were  dumfounding,  and 
of  course  there  was  no  way  for  him  to  know  that  he 
was  really  listening  to  her  mother.  It  was  his  first 
meeting  with  one  of  those  grown-up  little  girls,  won 
derful  product  of  the  winter  apartment  and  summer 
hotel;  and  Fanchon,  an  only  child,  was  a  star  of  the 
brand.  He  began  to  feel  resentful. 

"I  suppose,"  she  went  on,  "I'll  find  everything  here 
fearfully  Western.  Some  nice  people  called  yester- 


FANCHON  285 

day,  though.  Do  you  know  the  Magsworth  Bittses  ? 
Auntie  says  they're  charming.  Will  Roddy  be  at 
your  party?" 

"I  guess  he  will,"  returned  Penrod,  finding  this 
intelligible.  "The  mutt!" 

"Really !"  Fanchon  exclaimed  airily.  "Aren't  you 
great  pals  with  him?" 

"What's  'pals'?" 

"Good  heavens!  Don't  you  know  what  it  means 
to  say  you're  'great  pals'  with  any  one?  You  are 
an  odd  child!" 

It  was  too  much. 

"Oh,  Bugs!"  said  Penrod. 

This  bit  of  ruffianism  had  a  curious  effect.  Fan 
chon  looked  upon  him  with  sudden  favour. 

"I  like  you,  Penrod !"  she  said,  in  an  odd  way,  and, 
whatever  else  there  may  have  been  in  her  manner, 
there  certainly  was  no  shyness. 

"Oh,  Bugs!"  This  repetition  may  have  lacked 
gallantry,  but  it  was  uttered  in  no  very  decided 
tone.  Penrod  was  shaken. 

"Yes,  I  do !"  She  stepped  closer  to  him,  smiling. 
"Your  hair  is  ever  so  pretty." 

Sailors'  parrots  swear  like  mariners,  they  say; 
and  gay  mothers  ought  to  realize  that  all  children 
are  imitative,  for,  as  the  precocious  Fanchon  leaned 
toward  Penrod,  the  manner  in  which  she  looked  into 
his  eyes  might  have  made  a  thoughtful  observer 
wonder  where  she  had  learned  her  pretty  ways. 


286  PENROD 

Penrod  was  even  more  confused  than  he  had  been 
by  her  previous  mysteries:  but  his  confusion  was  of 
a  distinctly  pleasant  and  alluring  nature :  he  wanted 
more  of  it.  Looking  intentionally  into  another  per 
son's  eyes  is  an  act  unknown  to  childhood;  and  Pen- 
rod's  discovery  that  it  could  be  done  was  sensational. 
He  had  never  thought  of  looking  into  the  eyes  of 
Marjorie  Jones. 

Despite  all  anguish,  contumely,  tar,  and  Maurice 
Levy,  he  still  secretly  thought  of  Marjorie,  with 
pathetic  constancy,  as  his  "beau" — though  that  is 
not  how  he  would  have  spelled  it.  Marjorie  was 
beautiful;  her  curls  were  long  and  the  colour  of 
amber;  her  nose  was  straight  and  her  freckles  were 
honest ;  she  was  much  prettier  than  this  accomplished 
visitor.  But  beauty  is  not  all. 

"I  do !"  breathed  Fanchon,  softly. 

She  seemed  to  him  a  fairy  creature  from  some 
jrosier  world  than  this.  So  humble  is  the  human 
heart,  it  glorifies  and  makes  glamorous  almost  any 
poor  thing  that  says  to  it:  "I  like  you!" 

Penrod  was  enslaved.  He  swallowed,  coughed, 
scratched  the  back  of  his  neck,  and  said,  disjoint- 
edly: 

"Well — I  don't  care — if  you  want  to.  I  just  as 
soon." 

"We'll  dance  together,"  said  Fanchon,  "at  your 
party." 

"I  guess  so.     I  just  as  soon." 


FANCHON  287 

"Don't  you  want  to,  Penrod?" 

"Well,  I'm  willing  to." 

"No.     Say  you  want  to !" 

"Well " 

He  used  his  toe  as  a  gimlet,  boring  into  the  ground, 
his  wide  open  eyes  staring  with  intense  vacancy  at 
a  button  on  his  sleeve.  His  mother  appeared  upon 
the  porch  in  departure,  calling  farewells  over  her 
shoulder  to  Mrs.  Gelbraith,  who  stood  in  the  door 
way. 

"Say  it !"  whispered  Fanchon. 

"Well,  I  just  as  soon:9 

She  seemed  satisfied. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE    BIRTHDAY    PARTY 

A)ANCING  floor  had  been  laid  upon  a  plat 
form  in  the  yard,  when  Mrs.  Schofield  and 
her  son  arrived  at  their  own  abode;  and  a 
white  and  scarlet  striped  canopy  was  in  process  of 
erection  overhead,  to  shelter  the  dancers  from  the 
sun.     Workmen   were   busy   everywhere   under   the 
direction  of  Margaret,  and  the  smitten  heart  of  Pen- 
rod  began  to  beat  rapidly.     All  this  was  for  him; 
he  was  Twelve! 

After  lunch,  he  underwent  an  elaborate  toilette 
and  murmured  not.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life 
he  knew  the  wish  to  be  sand-papered,  waxed,  and 


THE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY  £89 

polished  to  the  highest  possible  degree.  And  when 
the  operation  was  over,  he  stood  before  the  mirror 
in  new  bloom,  feeling  encouraged  to  hope  that  his 
resemblance  to  his  father  was  not  so  strong  as  Aunt 
Sarah  seemed  to  think. 

The  white  gloves  upon  his  hands  had  a  pleasant 
smell,  he  found ;  and,  as  he  came  down  the  stairs,  he 
had  great  content  in  the  twinkling  of  his  new  dancing 
slippers.  He  stepped  twice  on  each  step,  the  better 
to  enjoy  their  effect  and  at  the  same  time  he  deeply 
inhaled  the  odour  of  the  gloves.  In  spite  of  every 
thing,  Penrod  had  his  social  capacities.  Already  it 
is  to  be  perceived  that  there  were  in  him  the  makings 
of  a  cotillon  leader. 

Then  came  from  the  yard  a  sound  of  tuning  in 
struments,  squeak  of  fiddle,  croon  of  'cello,  a  falling 
triangle  ringing  and  tinkling  to  the  floor;  and  he 
turned  pale. 

Chosen  guests  began  to  arrive,  while  Penrod, 
suffering  from  stage-fright  and  perspiration,  stood 
beside  his  mother,  in  the  "drawing-room,"  to  receive 
them.  He  greeted  unfamiliar  acquaintances  and 
intimate  fellow-criminals  with  the  same  frigidity, 
murmuring :  "  'M  glad  to  see  y ',"  to  all  alike,  largely 
increasing  the  embarrassment  which  always  prevails 
at  the  beginning  of  children's  festivities.  His  un 
natural  pomp  and  circumstance  had  so  thoroughly 
upset  him,  in  truth,  that  Marjorie  Jones  received 
a  distinct  shock,  now  to  be  related.  Doctor  Thrope, 


290  PENROD 

the  kind  old  clergyman  who  had  baptized  Penrod, 
came  in  for  a  moment  to  congratulate  the  boy,  and 
had  just  moved  away  when  it  was  Marjorie's  turn, 
in  the  line  of  children,  to  speak  to  Penrod.  She 
gave  him  what  she  considered  a  forgiving  look,  and, 
because  of  the  occasion,  addressed  him  in  a  perfectly 
courteous  manner. 

"I  wish  you  many  happy  returns  of  the  day, 
Penrod." 

"Thank  you,  sir!"  he  returned,  following  Dr. 
Thrope  with  a  glassy  stare  in  which  there  was  abso 
lutely  no  recognition  of  Marjorie.  Then  he  greeted 
Maurice  Levy,  who  was  next  to  Marjorie:  "  'M  glad 
to  see  y' !" 

Dumfounded,  Marjorie  turned  aside,  and  stood 
near,  observing  Penrod  with  gravity.  It  was  the 
first  great  surprise  of  her  life.  Customarily,  she  had 
seemed  to  place  his  character  somewhere  between 
that  of  the  professional  rioter  and  that  of  the  orang 
outang;  nevertheless,  her  manner  at  times  just  hinted 
a  consciousness  that  this  Caliban  was  her  property. 
Wherefore,  she  stared  at  him  incredulously  as  his 
head  bobbed  up  and  down,  in  the  dancing-school 
bow,  greeting  his  guests.  Then  she  heard  an  adult 
voice,  near  her,  exclaim: 

"What  an  exquisite  child!" 

Marjorie  glanced  up — a  little  consciously,  though 
she  was  used  to  it — naturally  curious  to  ascertain 
who  was  speaking  of  her.  It  was  Sam  Williams' 


THE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY  291 

mother  addressing  Mrs.  Bassett,  both  being  present 
to  help  Mrs.  Schofield  make  the  festivities  festive. 

"Exquisite !" 

Here  was  a  second  heavy  surprise  for  Marjorie: 
they  were  not  looking  at  her.  They  were  looking 
with  beaming  approval  at  a  girl  she  had  never  seen ; 
a  dark  and  modish  stranger  of  singularly  composed 
and  yet  modest  aspect.  Her  downcast  eyes,  becom 
ing  in  one  thus  entering  a  crowded  room,  were  all 
that  produced  the  effect  of  modesty,  counteracting 
something  about  her  which  might  have  seemed  too 
assured.  She  was  very  slender,  very  dainty,  and  her 
apparel  was  disheartening  to  the  other  girls ;  it  was 
of  a  knowing  picturesqueness  wholly  unfamiliar  to 
them.  There  was  a  delicate  trace  of  powder  upon 
the  lobe  of  Fanchon's  left  ear,  and  the  outlines  of 
her  eyelids,  if  very  closely  scrutinized,  would  have 
revealed  successful  experimentation  with  a  burnt 
match, 

Marjorie's  lovely  eyes  dilated:  she  learned  the 
meaning  of  hatred  at  first  sight.  Observing  the 
stranger  with  instinctive  suspicion,  all  at  once  she 
seemed,  to  herself,  awkward.  Poor  Marjorie  under 
went  that  experience  which  hearty,  healthy,  little 
girls  and  big  girls  undergo  at  one  time  or  another 
— from  heels  to  head  she  felt  herself,  somehow,  too 
thick. 

Fanchon  leaned  close  to  Penrod  and  whispered 
ti?  his  ear: 


292  PENROD 

"Don't  you  forget !" 

Penrod  blushed. 

Marjorie  saw  the  blush.  Her  lovely  eyes  opened 
even  wider,  and  in  them  there  began  to  grow  a  light. 
It  was  the  light  of  indignation; — at  least,  people 
whose  eyes  glow  with  that  light  always  call  it  in 
dignation. 

Roderick  Magsworth  Bitts,  Junior,  approached 
Fanchon,  when  she  had  made  her  courtesy  to  Mrs. 
Schofield.  Fanchon  whispered  in  Roderick's  ear 
also. 

"Your  hair  is  pretty,  Roddy !  Don't  forget  what 
you  said  yesterday !" 

Roderick  likewise  blushed. 

Maurice  Levy,  captivated  by  the  newcomer's  ap 
pearance,  pressed  close  to  Roderick. 

"Give  us  an  intaduction,  Roddy?" 

Roddy  being  either  reluctant  or  unable  to  perform 
the  rite,  Fanchon  took  matters  into  her  own  hands, 
and  was  presently  favourably  impressed  with  Mau 
rice,  receiving  the  information  that  his  tie  had  been 
brought  to  him  by  his  papa  from  Skoone's,  where 
upon  she  privately  informed  him  that  she  liked  wavy 
hair,  and  arranged  to  dance  with  him.  Fanchon 
also  thought  sandy  hair  attractive,  Sam  Williams  dis 
covered,  a  few  minutes  later,  and  so  catholic  was  her 
taste  that  a  ring  of  boys  quite  encircled  her  before 
the  musicians  in  the  yard  struck  up  their  thrilling 
march,  and  Mrs.  Schofield  brought  Penrod  to  escort 


THE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY  293 

the  lady  from  out-of-town  to  the  dancing  pavilion. 

Headed  by  this  pair,  the  children  sought  partners 
and  paraded  solemnly  out  of  the  front  door  and 
round  a  corner  of  the  house.  There  they  found  the 
gay  marquee ;  the  small  orchestra  seated  on  the  lawn 
at  one  side  of  it,  and  a  punch  bowl  of  lemonade 
inviting  attention,  under  a  tree.  Decorously  the 
small  couples  stepped  upon  the  platform,  one  after 
another,  and  began  to  dance. 

"It's  not  much  like  a  children's  party  in  our  day," 
Mrs.  Williams  said  to  Penrod's  mother.  "We'd  have 
been  playing  'Quaker-meeting,'  'Clap-in,  Clap-out,' 
or  'Going  to  Jerusalem,'  I  suppose." 

"Yes,  or  'Post-office'  and  'Drop-the-handker- 
chief,'  "  said  Mrs.  Schofield.  "Things  change  so 
quickly.  Imagine  asking  little  Fanchon  Gelbraith 
to  play  'London  Bridge'!  Penrod  seems  to  be  hav 
ing  a  difficult  time  with  her,  poor  boy;  he  wasn't  a 
shining  light  in  the  dancing  class." 

However,  Penrod's  difficulty  was  not  precisely  of 
the  kind  his  mother  supposed.  Fanchon  was  show 
ing  him  a  new  step,  which  she  taught  her  next  part 
ner  in  turn,  continuing  instructions  during  the  danc 
ing.  The  children  crowded  the  floor,  and  in  the 
kaleidoscopic  jumble  of  bobbing  heads  and  inter 
mingling  figures  her  extremely  different  style  of 
motion  was  unobserved  by  the  older  people,  who 
looked  on,  nodding  time  benevolently. 

Fan  chop  fascinated  girls  as  well  as  boys.     Many 


294  PENROD 

of  the  former  eagerly  sought  her  acquaintance  and 
thronged  about  her  between  the  dances,  when,  ac 
cepting  the  deference  due  a  cosmopolitan  and  an 
oracle  of  the  mode,  she  gave  demonstrations  of  the 
new  step  to  succeeding  groups,  professing  astonish 
ment  to  find  it  unknown:  it  had  been  "all  the  go," 
she  explained,  at  the  Long  Shore  Casino  for  fully 
two  seasons.  She  pronounced  "slow"  a  "Fancy 
Dance"  executed  during  an  intermission  by  Baby 
Rennsdale  and  Georgie  Bassett,  giving  it  as  her 
opinion  that  Miss  Rennsdale  and  Mr.  Bassett  were 
"dead  ones";  and  she  expressed  surprise  that  the 
punch  bowl  contained  lemonade  and  not  champagne. 
The  dancing  continued,  the  new  step  gaining 
instantly  in  popularity,  fresh  couples  adventuring 
with  every  number.  The  word  "step"  is  somewhat 
misleading,  nothing  done  with  the  feet  being  vital 
to  the  evolutions  introduced  by  Fanchon.  Fan- 
chon's  dance  came  from  the  Orient  by  a  roundabout 
way ;  pausing  in  Spain,  taking  on  a  Gallic  frankness 
in  gallantry  at  the  Bal  Bullier  in  Paris,  combining 
with  a  relative  from  the  South  Seas  encountered  in 
San  Francisco,  flavouring  itself  with  a  carefree  ne 
groid  abandon  in  New  Orleans,  and,  accumulating, 
too,  something  inexpressible  from  Mexico  and  South 
America,  it  kept,  throughout  its  travels,  to  the 
underworld,  or  to  circles  where  nature  is  extremely 
frank  and  rank,  until  at  last  it  reached  the  dives  of 
New  York,  when,  it  immediately  broke  out  in  what 


THE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY 

is  called  civilized  society.  Thereafter  it  spread,  in 
variously  modified  forms — some  of  them  disinfected 
— to  watering-places,  and  thence,  carried  by  hun 
dreds  of  older  male  and  female  Fanchons,  over  the 
country,  being  eagerly  adopted  everywhere  and 
made  wholly  pure  and  respectable  by  the  supreme 
moral  axiom  that  anything  is  all  right  if  enough 
people  do  it.  Everybody  was  doing  it. 

Not  quite  everybody.  It  was  perhaps  some  test 
of  this  dance  that  earth  could  furnish  no  more  gro 
tesque  sight  than  that  of  children  doing  it. 

Earth,  assisted  by  Fanchon,  was  furnishing  this 
sight  at  Penrod's  party.  By  the  time  ice-cream 
and  cake  arrived,  about  half  the  guests  had  either 
been  initiated  into  the  mysteries  by  Fanchon  or  were 
learning  by  imitation,  and  the  education  of  the  other 
half  was  resumed  with  the  dancing,  when  the  atten 
dant  ladies,  unconscious  of  what  was  happening, 
withdrew  into  the  house  for  tea. 

"That  orchestra's  a  dead  one,"  Fanchon  remarked 
to  Penrod.  "We  ought  to  liven  them  up  a  little!" 

She  approached  the  musicians. 

"Don't  you  know,"  she  asked  the  leader,  "the 
Slingo  Sligo  Slide?" 

The  leader  giggled,  nodded,  rapped  with  his  bow 
upon  his  violin ;  and  Penrod,  following  Fanchon  back 
upon  the  dancing  floor,  blindly  brushed  with  his 
elbow  a  solitary  little  figure  standing  aloof  on  the 
lawn  at  the  edge  of  the  platform. 


296  PENROD 

It  was  Marjorie. 

In  no  mood  to  approve  of  anything  introduced  by 
Fanchon,  she  had  scornfully  refused,  from  the  first, 
to  dance  the  new  "step,"  and,  because  of  its  bonfire 
popularity,  found  herself  neglected  in  a  society  where 
she  had  reigned  as  beauty  and  belle.  Faithless  Pen- 
rod,  dazed  by  the  sweeping  Fanchon,  had  utterly 
forgotten  the  amber  curls;  he  had  not  once  asked 
Marjorie  to  dance.  All  afternoon  the  light  of  in 
dignation  had  been  growing  brighter  in  her  eyes, 
though  Maurice  Levy's  defection  to  the  lady  from 
New  York  had  not  fanned  this  flame.  From  the 
moment  Fanchon  had  whispered  familiarly  in  Pen- 
rod's  ear,  and  Penrod  had  blushed,  Marjorie  had 
been  occupied  exclusively  with  resentment  against 
that  guilty  pair.  It  seemed  to  her  that  Penrod  had 
no  right  to  allow  a  strange  girl  to  whisper  in  his  ear ; 
that  his  blushing,  when  the  strange  girl  did  it,  was 
atrocious ;  and  that  the  strange  girl,  herself,  ought 
to  be  arrested. 

Forgotten  by  the  merrymakers,  Marjorie  stood 
alone  upon  the  lawn,  clenching  her  small  fists,  watch 
ing  the  new  dance  at  its  high  tide,  and  hating  it 
with  a  hatred  that  made  every  inch  of  her  tremble. 
And,  perhaps  because  jealousy  is  a  great  awakener 
of  the  virtues,  she  had  a  perception  of  something  in 
it  worse  than  lack  of  dignity — something  vaguely 
but  outrageously  reprehensible.  Finally,  when  Pen- 
rod  brushed  by  her,  touched  her  with  his  elbow,  and 


THE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY  297 

did  not  even  see  her,  Marjorie's  state  of  mind  (not 
unmingled  with  emotion!)  became  dangerous.  In 
fact,  a  trained  nurse,  chancing  to  observe  her  at  this 
juncture,  would  probably  have  advised  that  she  be 
taken  home  and  put  to  bed.  Marjorie  was  on  the 
verge  of  hysterics. 

She  saw  Fanchon  and  Penrod  assume  the  double 
embrace  required  by  the  dance;  the  "Slingo  Sligo 
Slide"  burst  from  the  orchestra  like  the  lunatic 
shriek  of  a  gin-maddened  nigger;  and  all  the  little 
couples  began  to  bob  and  dip  and  sway. 

Marjorie  made  a  scene.  She  sprang  upon  the 
platform  and  stamped  her  foot. 

"Penrod  Schofield!"  she  shouted.  "You  BE 
HAVE  yourself!" 

The  remarkable  girl  took  Penrod  by  the  ear.  By 
his  ear  she  swung  him  away  from  Fanchon  and 
faced  him  toward  the  lawn. 

"You  march  straight  out  of  here!"  she  com 
manded. 

Penrod  marched. 

He  was  stunned;  obeyed  automatically,  without 
question,  and  had  very  little  realization  of  what  was 
happening  to  him.  Altogether,  and  without  reason, 
he  was  in  precisely  the  condition  of  an  elderly  spouse 
detected  in  flagrant  misbehaviour.  Marjorie,  simi 
larly,  was  in  precisely  the  condition  of  the  party  who 
detects  such  misbehaviour.  It  may  be  added  that 
she  had  acted  with  a  promptness,  a  decision  and  a 


298  PENROD 

disregard  of  social  consequences  all  to  be  commended 
to  the  attention  of  ladies  in  like  predicament. 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself!"  she 
raged,  when  they  reached  the  lawn.  "Aren't  you 
ashamed  of  yourself?" 

"What  for?"  he  inquired,  helplessly. 

"You  be  quiet!" 

"But  what'd  7  do,  Marjorie?  /  haven't  done  any 
thing  to  you,"  he  pleaded.  "I  haven't  even  seen 
you,  all  aftern " 

"You  be  quiet!"  she  cried,  tears  filling  her  eyes. 
"Keep  still!  You  ugly  boy!  Shut  up!" 

She  slapped  him. 

He  should  have  understood  from  this  how  much 
she  cared  for  him.  But  he  rubbed  his  cheek  and 
declared  ruefully: 

"I'll  never  speak  to  you  again!" 

"You  will,  too!"  she  sobbed,  passionately. 

"I  will  not!" 

He  turned  to  leave  her,  but  paused. 

His  mother,  his  sister  Margaret,  and  their  grown 
up  friends  had  finished  their  tea  and  were  approach 
ing  from  the  house.  Other  parents  and  guardians 
were  with  them,  coming  for  their  children ;  and  there 
were  carriages  and  automobiles  waiting  in  the  street. 
But  the  "Slingo  Slide"  went  on,  regardless. 

The  group  of  grown-up  people  hesitated  and  came 
to  a  halt,  gazing  at  the  pavilion. 

"What  are  they  doing?"  gasped  Mrs.  Williams, 


By  his  ear  she  swung  him  away  from  Fanrhon  and  faced 

him  toward  the  lawn 

299 


300  PENROD 

blushing   deeply.      "What    is    it?      What   is    it?" 

"What  is  it?"  Mrs.  Gelbraith  echoed  in  a  fright 
ened  whisper.  "What " 

"They're  Tangoing!"  cried  Margaret  Schofield. 
"Or  Bunny  Hugging  or  Grizzly  Bearing,  or " 

"They're  only  Turkey  Trotting,"  said  Robert 
Williams. 

With  fearful  outcries  the  mothers,  aunts,  and 
sisters  rushed  upon  the  pavilion. 

"Of  course  it  was  dreadful,"  said  Mrs.  Schofield, 
an  hour  later,  rendering  her  lord  an  account  of  the 
day,  "but  it  was  every  bit  the  fault  of  that  one 
extraordinary  child.  And  of  all  the  quiet,  demure 
little  things — that  is,  I  mean,  when  she  first  came. 
We  all  spoke  of  how  exquisite  she  seemed — so  well 
trained,  so  finished!  Eleven  years  old!  I  never 
saw  anything  like  her  in  my  life!" 

"I  suppose  it's  the  New  Child,"  her  husband 
grunted. 

"And  to  think  of  her  saying  there  ought  to  have 
been  champagne  in  the  lemonade!" 

"Probably  she'd  forgotten  to  bring  her  pocket 
flask,"  he  suggested  musingly. 

"But  aren't  you  proud  of  Penrod?"  cried  Pen- 
rod's  mother.  "It  was  just  as  I  told  you:  he  was 
standing  clear  outside  the  pavilion " 

"I  never  thought  to  see  the  day!  And  Penrod 
was  the  only  boy  not  doing  it,  the  only  one  to  re 
fuse?  All  the  others  we 


THE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY  301 

"Every  one !"  she  returned  triumphantly.  "Even 
Georgie  BassettP 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Schofield,  patting  her  on  the 
shoulder.  "I  guess  we  can  hold  up  our  heads  at 
last." 


CHAPTER  XXXI 


OVER    THE    FENCE 

PENRQD  was  out  in  the  yard,  staring  at  the 
empty  marquee.     The  sun  was  on  the  hori 
zon  line,  so  far  behind  the  back  fence,  and  a 
western  window  of  the  house  blazed  in  gold  unbeara 
ble  to  the  eye:  his  day  was  nearly  over.     He  sighed, 
and  took  from  the  inside  pocket  of  his  new  jacket 
the  "sling-shot"  aunt  Sarah  Grim  had  given  him 
that  morning. 

He  snapped  the  rubbers  absently.  They  held 
fast;  a,nd  his  next  impulse  was  entirely  irresistible. 
He  found  a  shapely  stone,  fitted  it  to  the  leather, 
drew  back  the  ancient  catapult  for  a  shot.  A 

302 


OVER  THE  FENCE  303 

parrow  hopped  upon  a  branch  between  him  and  the 
house,  and  he  aimed  at  the  sparrow,  but  the  reflec 
tion  from  the  dazzling  window  struck  in  his  eyes  as 
he  loosed  the  leather. 

He  missed  the  sparrow,  but  not  the  window. 
There  was  a  loud  crash,  and  to  his  horror  he  caught 
a  glimpse  of  his  father,  stricken  in  mid-shaving, 
ducking  a  shower  of  broken  glass,  glittering  razor 
flourishing  wildly.  Words  crashed  with  the  glass, 
stentorian  words,  fragmentary  but  collossal. 

Penrod  stood  petrified,  a  broken  sling  in  his  hand. 
He  could  hear  his  parent's  booming  descent  of  the 
back  stairs,  instant  and  furious;  and  then,  red-hot 
above  white  lather,  Mr.  Schofield  burst  out  of  the 
kitchen  door  and  hurtled  forth  upon  his  son. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  demanded,  shaking 
Penrod  by  the  shoulder.  "Ten  minutes  ago,  for 
the  very  first  time  in  our  lives,  your  mother  and  I 
were  saying  we  were  proud  of  you,  and  here  you  go 
and  throw  a  rock  at  me  through  the  window  when 
I'm  shaving  for  dinner !" 

"I  didn't !"  Penrod  quavered.  "I  was  shooting 
at  a  sparrow,  and  the  sun  got  in  his  eyes,  and  the 
sling  broke " 

"What  sling?" 

"This'n." 

"Where'd  you  get  that  devilish  thing?  Don't  you 
know  I've  forbidden  you  a  thousand  times " 

"It  ain't  mine,"  said  Penrod.     ''It's  yours." 


304  PENROD 

"What?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  boy  meekly.  "Aunt  Sarah 
Crim  gave  it  to  me  this  morning  and  told  me  to  give 
it  back  to  you.  She  said  she  took  it  away  from  you 
thirty-five  years  ago.  You  killed  her  hen,  she  said. 
She  told  me  some  more  to  tell  you,  but  I've  for 
gotten." 

"Oh!"  said  Mr.  Schofield. 

He  took  the  broken  sling  in  his  hand,  looked  at  it 
long  and  thoughtfully — and  he  looked  longer,  and 
quite  as  thoughtfully,  at  Penrod.  Then  he  turned 
away,  and  walked  toward  the  house. 

"I'm  sorry,  papa,"  said  Penrod. 

Mr.  Schofield  coughed,  and,  as  he  reached  the 
door,  called  back,  but  without  turning  his  head. 

"Never  mind,  little  boy.  A  broken  window  isn't 
much  harm." 

When  he  had  gone  in,  Penrod  wandered  down  the 
yard  to  the  back  fence,  climbed  upon  it,  and  sat  in 
reverie  there. 

A  slight  figure  appeared,  likewise  upon  a  fence 
beyond  two  neighbouring  yards. 

"Yay,  Penrod !"  called  comrade  Sam  Williams. 

"Yay!"  returned  Penrod,  mechanically. 

"I  caught  Billy  Blue  Hill !"  shouted  Sam,  describ 
ing  retribution  in  a  manner  perfectly  clear  to  his 
friend.  "You  were  mighty  lucky  to  get  out  of, 
it." 


OVER  THE  FENCE  305 

"I  know  that!" 

"You  wouldn't  of,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Marjorie." 

"Well,  don't  I  know  that?"  Penrod  shouted,  with 
heat. 

"Well,  so  long!"  called  Sam,  dropping  from  his 
fence ;  and  the  friendly  voice  came  then,  more  faintly, 
"Many  happy  returns  of  the  day,  Penrod!" 

And  now,  a  plaintive  little  whine  sounded  from 
below  Penrod's  feet,  and,  looking  down,  he  saw  that 
Duke,  his  wistful,  old,  scraggly  dog  sat  in  the  grass, 
gazing  seekingly  up  at  him. 

The  last  shaft  of  sunshine  of  that  day  fell  gra 
ciously  and  like  a  blessing  upon  the  boy  sitting  on 
the  fence.  Years  afterward,  a  quiet  sunset  would 
recall  to  him  sometimes  the  gentle  evening  of  his 
twelfth  birthday,  and  bring  him  the  picture  of  his 
boy  self,  sitting  in  rosy  light  upon  the  fence,  gazing 
pensively  down  upon  his  wistful,  scraggly,  little  old 
dog,  Duke.  But  something  else,  surpassing,  he 
Would  remember  of  that  hour,  for,  in  the  side  street, 
close  by,  a  pink  skirt  flickered  from  behind  a  shade 
tree  to  the  shelter  of  the  fence,  there  was  a  gleam 
of  amber  curls,  and  Penrod  started,  as  something 
like  a  tiny  white  wing  fluttered  by  his  head,  and 
there  came  to  his  ears  the  sound  of  a  light  laugh 
and  of  light  footsteps  departing,  the  laughter  trem 
ulous,  the  footsteps  fleet. 

In  the  grass,  between  Duke's  forepaws,  there  lay  a 


306  PENROD 

white  note,  folded  in  the  shape  of  a  cocked  hat,  and 
the  sun  sent  forth  a  final  amazing  glory  as  Penrod 
opened  it  and  read: 

"Your  my  Bow." 


THE    END 


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